


I Must Be Warmer Now

by ifishouldvanish



Series: I Must Be Warmer Now [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Custody Arrangements, Depression, Divorce, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2016, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 14:19:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8920411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifishouldvanish/pseuds/ifishouldvanish
Summary: After a messy divorce that costs Rummond Gold what little family he had, he goes to the Rabbit Hole to drown his sorrows in whiskey. Instead, he finds hope in the town's resident barfly, Lacey French.RSS 2016 Gift for @BarPurple, who prompted, "Show Must Go On (Queen)"Nominated for Best Rumbelle Secret Santa and Best Lacey in the 2017 TEAs!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BarPurple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/gifts).



> So this kind of got out of hand. Oops.
> 
> 8tracks because I'm a nerd ([x](http://8tracks.com/ifishouldvanish/i-must-be-warmer-now))

Damn his temper.

The house is unbearably quiet, save for the sound of the microwave humming as the meager plastic dish inside slowly spins around and around. Mr Gold supposes his dinner tonight is a suitable metaphor for his life as of late.

Dull, tasteless, unsatisfying, and— quite frankly— a little embarrassing.

He sees his face reflected in the door of the microwave and drags a hand over his cheek. Lets out a sigh. Christ, he needs to fucking shave.

He used to enjoy preparing meals for his family, but now he has none. He had tried cooking for himself, but couldn't seem to grasp the concept of scaling down his recipes, so the leftovers would always last in the fridge until they spoiled. After a few months of setting tables for one, he finally resigned himself to ramen noodles, instant mac and cheese, and TV dinners. It doesn't fucking matter, because nothing tastes as good when he’s seated at the end of the kitchen table with no one to talk to, no one to engage in pleasant conversation with.

_ “How was school, Bae?” _ He’d ask.

_ “Okay.”  _ His son would mumble with a shrug.

_ “Did you learn anything interesting today?” _

Most often the answer would be  _ not really.  _ But Mr Gold lived for the evenings his son would start on an animated lecture about dinosaurs, list all the new vocabulary words he'd learned and use them correctly in sentences, or recount the misadventures of a certain fictional crocodile he was so fond of.

Gold berates himself for not being able to recall the crocodile's name.

He doesn’t mind Milah being gone, the more he thinks about it. He knows he lost her long ago. Things between them were placid enough until his accident, but he hadn't missed the disappointment in her eyes when the doctor told him his ankle would never fully recover and he’d need to use a cane for the rest of his life. Not the kind of disappointment rooted in empathy toward a loved one, mind. But the kind of disappointment one experiences when an appliance breaks and it isn’t covered by the warranty— so you’re left with the decision to either hire a mechanic or just say  _ fuck it _ , drag it out to the curb, and buy a newer model. 

That’s what he is, Gold thinks. A disappointment with a voided warranty.

But in truth, he’d been a disappointment before that. He and Milah’s marriage bed had seen little activity ever since Bae was born. He had chalked it up to her being exhausted by the responsibilities of parenthood. But as their son grew older and more independent, he realized that wasn't the case. And then, well— the truth let itself be known. He couldn't bring himself to be hurt by it, though. At least not at the time. It certainly explained a lot, but the only thing that really changed was he lost the heart to let her engage him on the rare occasions she'd try.

She’d spoon up behind him, glide a hand over his chest, and press a kiss to his shoulder. Summon the most sickeningly saccharine voice she could muster and go,  _ “When's the last time we had some fun baby, hmm?” _

And he'd mumble,  _ “Not tonight, honey. I need to be up early for an estate sale in Boston.”  _ Or,  _ “I’m really not feeling well, Milah.” _ After the third,  _ “I just don't think I'm in the mood,” _ she'd given up entirely, and he’d been relieved for it. He supposes he should have made more of an effort, but clearly she hadn't, so why should he? It wasn't as though she actually wanted  _ him _ . She just wanted comfort. Something familiar. He was mediocre takeout for nights she couldn't be bothered with anything else.

The microwave beeps and Gold slides the small plastic dish out. He peels the film covering back and stirs its unappetizing contents around with his fork. He takes a moment to poke a finger in it here and there, checking for cold spots. Finds one, but shuts the door and carries it to the table anyway.

Lyle. The crocodile's name is Lyle.

He seats himself with a huff and stares at the china cabinet on the opposite wall as he chews— what's left of it anyway. Most of the shelves are empty now, and the panes of glass on the doors are no more. It was a masterpiece of art nouveau and japonisme— An original Émile Gallé, carved in Walnut with inlays of lilies and lotuses, cranes and dragonflies. Cost him thirty grand. It isn't beyond repair, but the collection of vases and china he had housed in it were. All that remains now is a single Royal Albert teacup that managed to survive with no more than a single chip in its rim. Against his better judgement, he can't bring himself to throw it away.

Once again, his thoughts drift back to that night. It's all he’s thought about these past eight months. It's become a recurring nightmare that haunts what little sleep he gets, only it's not just a mere product of his anxiety-fueled imagination. It really happened.

_ “You're just like your father!” _ She'd said.

_ “I am nothing like my father!” _

Oh, the irony.

It felt so good at the time. To argue. To fight. To break and smash and hit things. The sound of the glass shattering as it crashed onto the floor was one of the most satisfying things he's ever experienced. All the years spent curating his pristine collection of finery, all the years spent keeping his proverbial ducks in a row. What was the point? None of it mattered, apparently. Might as well smash it to fucking pieces.

It came back to bite him in the arse, of course. And she'd known it would the second it happened. He’ll never forget the look she had on her face once he finished thrashing about.

She fucking smiled.

With one temper tantrum, he'd given up his right to anything more than supervised visits on weekends. They even had him taking anger management classes. Sitting in a circle singing  _ Kumbaya  _ with a bunch of goddamn scunners who could easily bring home the olympic gold medal in talking pish— if there ever were such a thing. Those were his two options: Listen to pish for an hour every friday afternoon, or have his visitation reduced to once a month.

Gold scoffs. He hasn't felt anger since that night. He  _ wishes  _ he could feel something.  _ Anything. _ He slowly pulls his gaze away from the china cabinet and back to his dinner. It can’t taste much better than the box it came in, he thinks as he drops his fork.

He needs to do something. Get out of this damned house.

He tosses his scabby, half-eaten four-cheese lasagne in the garbage and before he can talk himself out of it, grabs his cane and his keys.


	2. Chapter 2

The only time Mr Gold ever steps foot in the Rabbit Hole is to collect rent on the first of each month, and so he’s not surprised by the collective gasp the bar’s patrons draw as he walks in at seven o'clock on a Thursday night. Word has been getting around their small town, after all.

_ “I asked Gold for an extension and he agreed! Can you believe that?” _

“ _ He’s just depressed because his wife left him!” _

_ “Heh, she should've done us all a favor and done it sooner.” _

_ “I heard she was having an affair.” _

_ “It's sad, but I don't feel sorry for him. The guy’s an asshole.” _

_ “He's loaded though. She'd have to be an idiot to walk away from that!” _

_ “Uh… Alimony?” _

_ “Uh… Prenup? The man knows his way around contracts.” _

_ “Didn't they have a kid?” _

_ “Yeah. Poor thing.” _

_ “Anyway, you guys catch the game last night?” _

Mr Gold can feel all the eyes on his back as he settles into a seat at the end of the bar. The bartender blinks repeatedly at the sight of him as he approaches, his expression a mixture of fear and disbelief.

“...Mr Gold?”

“Scotch.” He grunts, placing his cane on the nearest purse hook. “Neat.”

“Right away, sir.” The bartender nods and hurries off to prepare the drink, grabbing the long-neglected bottle of  _ Macallan 18 _ off the top shelf.

Gold is thankful for the din of quiet voices that fill the bar. There's laughter, and a handful of rowdy voices that rise above it. Several of the patrons are huddled around the billiard tables across the way, and the balls make satisfying clacking sounds as they knock into each other. Gold could do without that goddamn  _ Wonderwall  _ song playing in the background, but he supposes anything is better than the silence of his empty home.

The bartender slides a glass toward him and he eyes it with a combination of fondness and shame. Wonders if the change of atmosphere will make it taste any better. He glances over the jovial crowd before catching himself in the mirror behind the bar and frowning. He should have shaved. But he supposes the shit growing on his face is the least of his problems. What he needs is to get some goddamn sleep. Finally bringing the glass to his lips, Gold takes his drink in solitude and avoids eye contact with anyone.

“Hey, uh... Next one's on me, Jerry.” A voice calls out from behind. It’s a familiar one, with an Australian accent that had left an impression on Gold the first time he heard it. Unit on the second floor of the building on 3rd Ave. Lacey French. Wee. Bit of a slob, but pays her rent on time. Trite details, but he supposes that in some way, minding them helps preserve what's left of his sanity.

_ “You sure?” _ The bartender asks, darting a pointed glance at the $250 bottle of scotch.

“Yeah. Our uh, boy Clark is losing his touch,” she snickers. She holds up a wad of bills and tosses a glance over her shoulder at the inebriated cluster of men around the pool table. “I think I can spare a drink for our man Gold here.”

“You got it, French.”

Gold looks blankly ahead as Lacey slides into the stool beside him and sets her bottle of Guinness down.  _ And so it begins, _ he thinks. Lacey French, first in line to take a stab at Storybrooke's wealthiest new bachelor so she can suck him dry, too.

“Hey.”

He takes another sip of his scotch and pretends not to notice her, as if that were remotely possible. Girl makes a spectacle of herself with her lewd behavior and tiny dresses that leave nothing to the imagination.

“...So the rumors are true.” She says. “You really  _ are _ an asshole.” There's a flirtatious lilt to her voice though, and it sounds more like a compliment than anything else.

Gold scoffs, but still refuses to say anything. Figures she must be drunk.

“You know, when a girl pays for your next drink, it's polite to say  _ thank you _ .” She teases. “Especially if it's that overpriced shit  _ you're _ drinking.”

“I haven't taken my next drink yet, now have I?” He grumbles.

Lacey's blue eyes wander over him appraisingly for a moment and she smirks. “...You will.”

“...can't argue that.” Gold shrugs and anxiously taps a finger against his glass. Surely if he keeps up with the short answers, she’ll lose interest soon enough. He didn’t come here to chat. He just wants to drink himself numb someplace other than his house for once.

Well— when he puts it like that, it sounds ridiculous. Drink himself numb to what, exactly? His numbness? That can’t be right.

The two of them are silent for a moment until Lacey fidgets and clears her throat. “You uh, like Van Halen?” She asks, her eyes darting between him and the record machine at the other end of the bar. Do they even call them  _ record machines _ anymore?

_ Fuck, _ he’s so old.

Gold realizes he’s been staring at her (or at least, in her direction) and blinks his eyes into focus. “Excuse me?”

“I was gonna put some music on, before I laid eyes on your sorry ass.” She snickers.

Gold doesn't know what to say to that. Milah was going to travel the world before she laid eyes on his sorry arse, too. Getting in the way must be a talent of his.

Lacey narrows her eyes at him and bites her lip. “...You're a Hagar man, aren't you?”

He has no idea what the hell she's talking about.

“I mean, that's fine. I'm not judging or anything.” She assures.

Gold realizes she’s looking at him.  _ Really  _ looking at him. In the eyes. It’s a bit startling. Most people tend to focus on something like his tie or his pocket square. Maybe his nose. His cane, if they lack subtlety.

“If you ask me, there's just no comparison to  _ Diamond David Lee Roth.” _ She offers with a chuckle, drumming her fingers on the bartop. The black manicure on her nails has seen better days, Gold notices. Chipped and cracked and likely not as glossy as it once was. 

She slides off the stool and makes her way toward the jukebox, and Gold realizes how much he was actually enjoying her company. Maybe not _ her _ company specifically, but he hasn't had company of any kind in so long and he craves it so badly.

Lacey adjusts the hem of her dress before pouring over the selection on the jukebox. She pushes a sequence of buttons and an acoustic guitar begins playing. A man is singing something about not being wanted around and the comforts of the bottle. Nonetheless, it sounds more upbeat and snappy than morose. Gold feels a wave of relief when Lacey spins around and begins walking back over to him.

_ “I think that you're headed for a whole lot of trouble,” _ The man sings, _ “if you take your whiskey home.” _

Lacey slides back into the stool beside him, and the acoustic guitars are replaced with heavy, squealing ones. “They just didn't write ‘em like this with Sammy.” She laments, shaking her head.

He still doesn't know what the hell she's talking about, but he's been paying enough attention to understand that the man singing must be the Diamond Dave she spoke of. Not that he gives a damn.

Lacey takes a swig of her beer and sighs. “You know, people around town… they uh, talk about you.”

“...Aye.” He grunts. Even before the divorce, he had a less than stellar reputation as a ruthless, unforgiving landlord and loanshark. Not that he ever denied any of it.

“Any of it true?” She asks. She doesn't actually sound too interested the answer, though. Like she’s only asking because she can’t think of anything else.

Gold scoffs. “What have you heard?”

“The usual.” She says, turning to face him better. “That you're a ruthless, bitter old fuck whose healthy bank account wasn’t enough to stop his wife from leaving him.” She relays with an amused grin.

It kind of stings to hear it from somebody else, but what defense does he have?

“...Every word.” He nods and gives her a crooked, self-effacing smile before taking another sip from his glass.

“I'm not stupid.” She says abruptly. “I know they like to talk shit about me too. ...Fucking fucks,” She laughs, tossing a glance over her shoulder. “Every single one of them.”

“I'm afraid I haven't had the privilege of hearing the tale.” Gold mumbles with a shrug.

“I'll suck your dick in the men's room for a few shots or a ride home.”

For a frightening instant, he isn't sure if she's telling him or making an offer.

“Only happened once. And it wasn't because he bought me shots.” She clarifies with a snort. “I don't know. I kinda thought I was hitting it off with the guy.”

“I'm—” Gold frowns. “I'm sorry to hear that.” He thinks he's sorry, at least. He has a hard time identifying his emotions these days. The various colors that once painted his experiences have been blended into a muddy brown of detached monotony. Occasionally he might catch a swirl of blue or yellow that hasn't dissolved into the rest yet, but those moments are few and far between.

“I don't really care, you know?” She says with a wry smile. “If spreading bullshit rumors about me makes them feel better about their boring-ass lives, then I guess I'm happy to take one for the team.”

Gold scoffs into his glass. “Some teammates.”

“Yeah well, it's no skin off my back,” she sighs, leaning back in her seat.

“Sounds like a load of shite.” He mutters.

Lacey lets out a small chuckle. “You think I'm talking out my ass, don't you?” She asks. “That I'm one of those people who're all, ‘ _ I'm gonna choose to be happy today!’— _ then winds up on the news the next day for going postal and setting their boss's house on fire? ...Or some shit like that, I dunno.”

“You said it, dearie.” Gold shrugs and takes a sip of his scotch. “Not me.”

“Well, I'm not.” Lacey says flatly. “I just...  _ truly _ don't give a rat's ass.” She snickers, knocking back her bottle of beer. She lets out a refreshed sigh and eases her shoulders as it pops out from her lips.

“I  _ used _ to think I didn't give a rat's arse.” Gold admits. “Turns out I couldn't have been more wrong.”

Lacey snorts. “What uh- what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Gold stares down at his half-empty glass and smiles. “That I’m the daft cunt who sets his boss's house on fire.”

The corner of Lacey's mouth tugs upwards with a sort of vicarious pleasure. “...Was it worth it?”

He scowls. “Almost.” He lies. In truth, it was entirely not worth it at all, however good it may have felt at the time.

“Ah,” Lacey chuckles and swats a hand at his shoulder. “So you got caught.”

“I don't think you can call it  _ getting caught _ when you put on a bloody show for them, can you?”

Lacey's brows shoot upwards and she smiles appreciatively. “You know, Mr Gold… You’re uh, different than I expected.”

He glances up from his glass and tries to read her expression. He can't.

“...and I'm glad.” She gives him a wink and takes another swig. “So… what brings you into this—” she snorts and gestures limply around the bar, “fine establishment tonight?”

Such a seemingly innocuous question, that. It's one of those questions people ask to be polite. They don't actually care about the answer, and it'd even be considered rude to answer it truthfully. Had anyone else asked it, Gold would have told them in no plain language just where they could shove their precious social skills, but he's certain he and Lacey have moved beyond the pretense of polite chat. He's feeling emboldened to honest. Open.

“Don't you ever—”

_ Nevermind. _

Gold’s courage suddenly dries up and he looks away, drawing his glass back to his lips and feigning a sudden interest in the neon signs on the wall.  _ Budweiser. Heineken. Coors. Corona.  _ But he knows he isn't about to be let off so easily.

“Ever what?”

Gold takes a deep breath. He's embarrassed to admit it out loud. Ashamed, even. “Ever just feel... alone?”

Lacey takes another swig and chuckles, shaking her head. His expression must give him away however, because she suddenly stops and leans forward, resting a hand over his.

It’s so warm and soft and when's the last time anyone had touched him?

“I'm uh, used to it.” She says with a weak smile, and Gold feels those words sink into his chest, burying themselves way down deep inside. He isn't sure if he finds them comforting or distressing, but they affect him profoundly regardless.

Miss French is an attractive woman. But up close, Gold can see the signs of life’s cruel reality on her face. Her smoky eyes seem less sultry once he notices the puffy dark circles that she's hidden under a layer of concealer, and the tiny flakes of mascara that litter the tops of her cheeks. There's a stripe of a sparse area on her left eyebrow from a scar that has been filled in, and her nose has a curious slant to it that reminds him of his own. The berry color on her lips has begun to clump and fade from being wrapped around a bottle, yet in spite of all this, she has the beginnings of smile lines at the corners of her mouth. A shadow slowly looms over the two of them, pulling Gold out of his thoughts.

“Racy Lacey, digging for Gold…” A voice snickers.

This one too is familiar, with its characteristic slur. First floor unit on Sherwood Street. Keith Nottingham. Always behind on rent. And his personal hygiene.

“Can't you see I'm talking here, asshole?” Lacey groans.  _ “...Fuckin’ rude.” _ She snips, rolling her eyes.

Discomfited by their audience, Gold wiggles his hand out from underneath hers.

The dark-haired man gestures at the few inches that remain between the two of them. “Will you sit on my lap if I buy you a drink too?”

“Get bent, Keith.” Lacey dismisses, throwing her head back to finish what's left of her beer. 

“C’mon, Lacey.” He says, snaking an arm around her waist. “We had a good time that night, didn't we?”

Gold feels tempted to intervene, but as it turns out, he doesn't have to. For the best, he thinks. In his state, he’d probably just end up embarrassing himself.

“Eh.” Lacey shrugs and peels Keith's hand away, not once giving him even a fleeting glance. “I guess there are worse ways to spend two and a half minutes.” She chides, motioning at the bartender for another beer. “Not many, though.”

Gold watches, fascinated by the way Lacey deflects the man's advances. She truly does seem to not give a damn. Cultivated it into an art form. Sure, he likes to tell people he doesn’t give a damn, but that’s just an act. The truth is that he's always cared about and felt things a little too deeply for his own good. In one of his anger management classes, they'd spoken of how to communicate his emotions honestly— using  _ I _ statements of course— instead of bottling them up. But maybe if he'd just told Milah to  _ get bent _ six years ago, his china cabinet would still be in one piece and he'd still have his son.

“Whatever, skank. Have fun being some old man's one-night rebound.”

“Thanks, Keith. Enjoy your pulled pork for me tonight, will you?” She snorts.

Keith waves a hand in defeat and stumbles off while Lacey chugs her next beer down to the top of the label.

“Anyway, yeah. You’ll get used to it.” She says, grabbing a handful of peanuts and popping them into her mouth. She chews. Takes another swig. “...To that feeling.”

It takes Gold a few seconds to recall exactly what feeling she's referring to, and he frowns. He doesn't want to get used to it. He just wants to not be alone anymore.

Lacey looks back at him as she dusts the salt off of her fingers. “Hey— Cheer up, Gold.” She winks, giving him a playful shove. “It's not so bad.”

Now he finds himself smiling. It's a small thing, but it's something. A swirl of yellow paint amidst the ocean of muddy brown.

“You learn eventually, you know?”

He clears his throat. “Learn what?”

She brings her beer halfway to her lips, the motion interrupted by a sudden thought. “How to uh…” she wags the bottle at him as she finds the words, “stop caring about the wrong people.”

There's a story there, Gold can tell. He remains silent and waits to hear it.

“You know, I uh… moved to New York when I turned twenty-one.” She begins. Gold props his chin up on his fist and listens. “Had these big dreams for myself, that I was gonna be a singer. Did a few gigs. People seemed to really like my voice. But then I started seeing this guy.” Lacey sets her beer down with a sigh and starts studying her nails. “...Handsome, had money, spoiled me… He became my world. We got engaged and everything.” She pauses and hikes her brows, and it’s if she’s watching the trainwreck unfold again in her mind’s eye. She shakes her head in disgust at the carnage. “Anyway, he was a fuckin’ asshole. He uh, treated me like shit. Worked this high-stress job in the city, took it out on me when he got home. I knew I should have left him, but— I thought I was in love, you know? Thought maybe if I was a better girlfriend to him, more supportive, better in the kitchen, better in bed, it would help.” She rubs her thumb over the opening of her beer bottle and laughs emptily. “Can you believe that?” She asks.

He can. He spent the first seventeen years of his life trying think of all the ways he could be a better son to his father for the same reason. But it's a rhetorical question, Gold decides, and remains quiet. 

“He did these unspeakable things to me. And I blamed  _ myself _ for it.” Lacey narrows her eyes at the wall and pouts. “Fuckin’ stupid.”

“I— I don't think that makes you stupid.” Gold finds himself saying and she returns a weak but appreciative smile.

“Well, one night he went too far. So the next morning, after he left for work, I just snapped. Grabbed one of his stupid golf clubs and just went to town, you know? Smashed up all his shit, and then I just… left. Didn't even pack a bag. Pawned off the engagement ring for some cash. Grabbed a meal at Waffle House and a ticket on a Greyhound. Came back to this shithole town to live with my dad.”

“I'm… sorry that happened to you.” Gold takes a deep breath, “But I'm ah, glad you got out of there.” 

She swills down more of her beer and munches on another handful of peanuts. “Don't get me wrong.” She mumbles around the food in her mouth then swallows, shaking her head. “My dad's a piece of shit too.” She laughs. “Just not the kind who hits me.”

The pair of them share a companionable silence while they continue to sip their drinks. Lacey slams her bottle down and sighs.

“The thing is, everyone thinks I'm a slut, or that I'm...  _ easy, _ because of the way I dress.  But they don't know how— what a… what an  _ experience _ it was for me, to look in the mirror for the first time in four years and not see any bruises.”

Gold swallows and tries not to let on just how much he can relate. “That must have been... overwhelming for you.”

“I used to wear long sleeves and jeans year-round to cover them. I was so ashamed, embarrassed. But uh, I'm proud of my body now.” She says with a strained yet genuine smile. Lacey turns toward him a little more and extends her leg out for him to see. “I won't let anyone make me feel like I have to cover it up ever again.”

Her skin is creamy and pale and free of any blemishes except for a chicken pox scar on her thigh, a few birthmarks, and what appears to be the remnants of an old surgical scar that runs up half the length of her shin.

“That's— that's good.” Gold nods and smiles. Another emotion he cannot identify grips his heart, but he decides it's a pleasant one.

“People can think whatever they want about me. But I know who I am, and I'm not going to let anyone change that. ...Not even that prick,” she jokes, tossing a glance over her shoulder at Keith. She rolls her shoulders, smacks her lips, and begins picking at the label on her beer bottle. “So.” She chirps and looks back at him. “What uh… what about you?”

Gold thinks for what feels like an eternity. He knows his story isn't anywhere near as inspiring as Lacey's. “Nothing like that.” He confesses guiltily. “I was just a disappointing husband.”

_ “Nah,” _ Lacey grunts. “See that—” She wags a finger at him and shakes her head. “That's blaming yourself.”

“Well, of course it is.” He scoffs. “Haven't you heard?  _ I'm an insufferable bastard.” _

Lacey lets out a disapproving huff and rolls her eyes, but is belied by a smile. “...I'm still here,” she offers.

Gold finds himself surprisingly comforted by this and returns a tight-lipped smile. “Whose fault is it? If not mine?”

She seems to consider this for a moment, then shrugs. “Sometimes, I don't think anyone's to blame. Sometimes, shit just…”

“...Happens?”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “Some things you just gotta leave to chance, you know?”

This doesn't make him feel any better. But it doesn't make him feel any worse either. He feels like he’s been leaving everything in life up to chance, that his life is nothing but a series of events that have happened  _ to  _ him rather than a series of events he’d had any hand in creating. Like he has no control.

“I— I found out my wife was having an affair six years ago.” He finally confesses, hiking his brows in disbelief. Of what, he isn't sure— the information itself or the fact that he's sharing it.

Lacey rolls her head back and scoffs. “Might I ask how you uh…”

“I found a men's ring on the bathroom counter one evening after I'd come home from work.” He shrugs. “Could say it was the missing piece of the puzzle.”

_ “Ouch.” _ Lacey peeps, grimacing playfully with schadenfreude.

Gold taps a finger on the bartop, pressing his lips into a thin line and inching closer to her. “That's just it, though.” He says, leaning in. “I couldn't bring myself to be angry at the time. Or jealous. Or-or hurt, or even surprised.” He pauses for a beat and scoffs. “In fact, I just gave it to her and said, ‘ _ It's a lovely piece. Make sure the owner gets it back.’” _

Lacey lets out a full belly laugh. “You're kidding.”

“No ah… those were my exact words.” He nods, and a humoured grin spreads across his face the longer he thinks about it. “So I just… ignored it. Six years, sharing my bed, my home, with a woman I knew was unfaith—” He cuts himself off because he can't blame her. “I knew didn't love me.” He finishes, taking a heavy swig is his scotch.

Lacey lets out a long whistle of incredulity. “And I thought  _ I _ had a lot of self-loathing.” She chuckles.

“I don't know. It's just— I grew up without my mother. I didn't want to subject my boy to the same.”

Lacey frowns at this and starts picking at the label on her beer again. “How old is he?” She asks, the concerned note in her voice belying her lack of eye contact.

“He turns eight this November. Name's Bae.”

He waits for _ the look _ . The one that says,  _ ‘What the hell kind of a name is that?’ _ But instead she just asks, “And how's he doing?” without missing a beat.

“I… I don't really know.” Gold says with bitter, feigned nonchalance. “The thing is, he… looks at me differently now. Like he doesn't know who I am. Not that I blame him.”

“Was he there?” Lacey asks, “when you uh,  _ snapped?” _

“No. No, no.” Gold stammers, “Of course not.” He presses his lips into a thin line and stares ahead. “It's  _ her. _ I know it is. You can just tell he doesn't know how to act around me anymore. I don't think I can ever forgive her for that. ...His face used to light up when he'd come home from school, and he’d run over to me with his arms out, ‘ _ Papa!’  _ You know? Would almost knock me over.” His smile falters and he sips his drink again. “Now it's like he's afraid to touch me. Not because of what  _ I _ did, mind, but just because he knows it would make his mother upset.”

“Yeah, um... divorce does that.” She agrees, but the tone in her voice is flat. “You gonna apply for another custody hearing or whatever?”

“I have. But ah… Judge Mills doesn't seem too interested in my case.”

“I don't blame him.” Lacey snickers. “Look at yourself.”

“Her.” He corrects.

“Whatever. Point is, they wanna see you act like you don't even care about the kid. Just keep getting dressed and going to work. Buy your groceries and watch football. Go to bed at ten and have quiet missionary with the other divorced chick you met at church or the gym or some shit like that. Rinse and repeat. Next thing you know, they'll practically be throwing the kid back in your lap for being so  _ responsible _ and  _ well-adjusted _ .”

Gold sips his scotch again and gives her a sidelong look. “Is that all it takes?”

“Worked for Boyd over there,” she says, nodding toward a blond in one of the booths by the window. Ashley Boyd. Rents the house on Glasscastle Boulevard. Late on rent every now and then since having the baby, but he pretends not to notice.

 

It's getting later, and the demographic of the bar’s patrons has completed the transition from unwinding nine-to-fivers to the night crowd. Gold never imagined that Lacey French could be such a delightful conversationalist, so clever and wise beyond her years— which as it turns out, aren't so few as he had assumed.

He finally took her up on that second glass of overpriced scotch and now as he sips his third, he’s feeling a pleasant buzz in his chest. He's making her laugh and all he can think about is what other sort of anecdote he could share to make her giggle again. He notices she has a tendency to wrinkle her nose and feels something squeeze at his heart every time he catches it. They spend half an hour teaching each other amusing colloquialisms from their respective home countries before Gold glances at his watch and realizes it's one in the morning. He frowns and Lacey pouts in understanding, peering at the  _ We ID _ clock on the wall behind the bar herself.

She nibbles on her lip and looks at him hesitantly for a moment. Gold feels it too. That he doesn't want their evening to end just yet. But he's already stayed out too late. He clears his throat and slides off his stool.

“Well, Miss French,” he says, straightening the lapels of his jacket, “you've made what I expected to be a terribly dull evening a thoroughly pleasant one.” He smiles weakly at her as he readies his cane, making a note to himself to come back next week so that he might enjoy her company again.

“It—” She hops off her stool and shifts her weight from one foot to the other, wringing her hands together. Gold raises his brows expectantly. “...it doesn't have to be over yet.” She says. “I mean, my place isn't far from here.”

Gold’s lips slowly curl into lopsided grin.

_ “...Right.” _ Lacey snorts and shakes her head. “You uh, already knew that.” She throws her arms up and gestures vaguely at him. “I mean— You're Mr Gold.  _ Landlord of nightmares.” _

“Nightmares?” He scoffs.

Lacey eyes him appraisingly, the tip of her tongue poking out to wet her lips. “Well... not to all of us.” She winks. “But yeah, I uh, walked here. And there's um, maybe been some talk of a mugging in the neighbourhood?”

_ “Has there?” _ Gold asks with feigned concern, knowing full well there's been no reports of any such thing.

“Yeah!” Lacey insists and nods sternly, “Real big guy, they're saying.”

“Well then, it wouldn't be conscionable of me to let you walk the streets alone at this hour, now would it?”

She bites back a smile and shakes her head. “No uh... it wouldn't.”

“I… I'd love to walk you home, Lacey.” Gold nods and offers her his arm. She strings her purse over her shoulder and accepts it, and the two of them leave the Rabbit Hole together— paying no mind to the pairs of eyes on their backs they walk out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Lacey somehow manages to spend half the trip home walking backwards. A remarkable feat Gold thinks, considering the amount of beers she’s had and the absurd height of her heels. He’s by no means a tall man, but he realizes she's wee enough to still be a few inches shorter than him even with them on. She stumbles and almost falls when one of her stilettos gets caught in a crack in the pavement, but has the faculties to catch herself.

“Perhaps you should pay more attention to where you're going, dearie.”

“Nah.” She shakes her head and stops walking. Gold watches with curiosity as she bends over and pulls her shoes off, taking their five inches of extra height with them. She snaps back up with an adorable smile and continues ambling backwards. “I'm good.”

Another hundred yards and they're standing outside her building. His building? Their building? She ascends the steps and looks over her shoulder at him, where he's standing on the sidewalk.

“Well?” She teases and gestures around the quiet, empty street, “aren't you coming in?”

Gold stammers, suddenly hesitant. He didn’t think this through. He agreed to take her home because he was enjoying her company and didn’t want to go back to the house yet. But now that he’s poised at her doorstep, he isn’t sure he’s ready for what he’s fairly certain she has in mind. 

“You know…” She hums, “I think I might have a leak or something. You should come up and check it out. While you're in the neighbourhood and all.”

Gold settles both hands on his cane and clears his throat. “You didn't think to mention it last week?”

“I  _ meant _ to…” She mumbles coyly, “but then my hot landlord showed up demanding rent money and it must have slipped my mind in favor of more pleasant thoughts.”

He tilts his head and furrows his brows. “Such as?”

“You'll have to come upstairs and find out.” She winks.

“Well.” Gold shakes his head and chuckles. “I  _ am _ terribly concerned about this leak of yours, Miss French.” He says as he climbs the steps. “Water damage can be quite serious if left unchecked.” 

_ Yes, _ he thinks. Much easier to accept an invitation into a woman’s apartment at a quarter past one under the pretense of…  _ checking her plumbing. _ Gold blushes slightly. He has to hand it to her. She knows what she’s doing.

He holds her shoes for her as she unlocks the door and lures him upstairs, his cane tapping loudly on the old wood floors. Biting back a smile, she fumbles with her key ring a second a time and unlocks the door to unit 201.

“Leak’s in the bathroom,” Lacey says as they step inside. “Ceiling. Can't miss it.”

Gold blinks owlishly for a moment, having been convinced this leak complaint was no more legitimate than her rumored mugger. He carefully steps over the mess of stilt-like shoes that litter the floor and slips into the bathroom to take a look, recognizing what is likely a toilet flange leak from the floor above. “I'll have a plumber come in this week.” He assures as he returns to the living room, eyes panning across the room in search of his host. “It's a simple enough repair. Common on these older buildings. The wax seals tend to crack after twenty, thirty or so—”

He's cut off when he bumps into Lacey, who seems to have materialised out of nowhere. He stumbles back half a step, and she slowly closes the space between them. She reaches up on her toes and brushes her lips against his, her hands softly gripping his arms for balance. Gold clears his throat as she nuzzles his neck.

“As uh, fascinating as that all is…” She whispers into his ear, one hand pulling gently at his tie. “I think I promised you something if you came upstairs.”

“... _ Right,”  _ Gold rasps and nods slowly as she pulls away to look at him. He swallows in some attempt to quell the sudden dryness in his mouth. “Yes. Of course.”

She drapes her arms over his shoulders, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, and begins waddling backwards toward the bedroom. “So, pleasant thoughts…” She ventures. Her nails lightly scratch against his scalp, making his whole body tingle. “Like what you're hiding underneath all these layers of Armani…” She murmurs, fixing her eyes on the knot of his tie.

Gold scoffs, “Not much, I'm afraid.” But he can already feel himself beginning to blush at the sentiment.

She wets her lips and narrows her eyes at him. “...Or if that tongue is good for more than just delivering colorful threats to delinquent tenants…”

He raises a brow at her, amused to find being a bitter arsehole must be a turn-on for her.

She smiles at him appreciatively for a moment and sucks her teeth. “Sometimes, I wonder if you'd be open to accepting  _ alternate forms of payment.” _

“Well,” Gold smirks as his mind finally catches up, allowing him to bask in the warmth of her flirtations as they step into the bedroom. “Believe it or not, I _ am _ more flexible than I seem.” 

“Hmm…” She expresses her interest with a hum and presses a kiss to his neck. “I'd like to test that theory.” Lacey steps away from him and takes her hair down while Gold settles on the edge of the bed. He watches as she tucks her fingertips beneath the hem of her dress and pulls it over her head, giving him a full view of her tantalizing figure. She drops the garment onto the floor and climbs into his lap without hesitation.

She kisses him softly on the lips, her fingers wandering to his hand where it still rests on his cane. He takes the cue and releases his grip on the handle, letting her take it from him and gently set it on the floor. With it out of the way, she scoots closer against him and he lets out a groan.  _ Gods, _ how extraordinary it feels to have someone so close. He softly grips her waist and pulls her in for another kiss. His fingertips ghost along her spine while he parts his lips for her, granting her tongue entrance. The reality of the situation seems to hit him then, and his mind is suddenly lagging miles behind their bodies again. He tenses and pulls away, his mouth bone dry.

“Miss French. I—” He struggles to get the words out as she continues peppering kisses across his face and neck. “Perhaps this isn't such a good idea.”

Lacey pulls away with a frown. “Why not?”

He doesn't know why. All he can muster is a pained expression.

“Let me guess,” she says flatly, but she looks more sympathetic than disappointed. “It's been six years.”

“No, it's just— Well…” Gold stammers. She's right. Excluding the occasional ill-fated attempt to  _ work on things, _ he and Milah hadn't slept together since the night he found out about the affair, and he could never bring himself to see anyone else. Why should a woman like Lacey French want anything to do with a man as old and out of practice as he is? He closes his eyes as he swallows the truth. “Yes.”

“Well, you know what they say…” Lacey smiles and Gold knits his brows together. She leans in and gives the shell of his ear a playful nibble. “There’s no time like the present, Mr Gold.” She hums.

He pulls back and stares at her, his eyes wide with puzzlement.

“Alright,  _ look.” _ She says, cupping his face in her hands. “You can walk out of here right now— let those six years become eight, ten, twelve…” Her eyes bore into his, willing him to understand. “Or you can stay and fuck me. Give your ex-wife the middle finger by refusing to let your past with her destroy your happiness any more than it already has.”

“I— you're right.” Gold nods, sighing and easing his shoulders. “Absolutely right.”

“Of course I am.” Lacey smiles encouragingly and begins clumsily undoing his tie. “Hey. You uh… like Queen?” She asks offhandedly.

He stares blankly at her.  _ Should he? _

“Brian May wrote this song of theirs.” She explains. “The Show Must Go On? …Supposed to be about how Freddie Mercury was dying, 'cause he had AIDS and all.”

Gold can't stop his brows from jumping up to his hairline. What the hell is she telling him this for? Someone dying from AIDS seems like the  _ last _ thing you'd want to bring up right before a shag.

“Some people say that can't be true, ‘cause Brian wouldn't have known yet at the time.” She pauses and nibbles her lip for a moment, then drops the length of silk onto the floor and shakes her head. “I don't think that's what matters though. You listen to that song and Freddie just fuckin’  _ kills _ it, you know?”

No, he doesn't know.

“Anyway…” She murmurs, guiding him down on his back and beginning to unbutton his shirt, “Point is, by the time they started recording  _ Innuendo _ , Freddie was so weak. Brian was worried he wouldn't be able to sing it. And  _ shit—  _ d’you know what Freddie said?”

Lacey shifts on his lap and opens his shirt up, sliding it off his shoulders. Once he's wiggled out of it, she looks her fill of his bare chest and bites back a smile. Gold raises his brows, waiting for her to get to the point— because admittedly, he's curious as hell to know what it is.

“He knocked back a shot of vodka and said,  _ I'll fucking do it, darling!”  _ She bubbles gleefully. “Went in and knocked it out of the park.”

Gold huffs out an awkward laugh and she begins leaning over to meet him for a kiss. Lacey holds nothing back, her lips pressing hard against his, warm and open and wet. The tip of her tongue traces along his lips and he closes his eyes and lets her in. Not surprisingly, she tastes like beer.

He has the thought that hasn't been kissed like this in six years, but he quickly realizes he actually hasn't been kissed like this ever. His hands wander up her arms, over her shoulders and through her hair, pulling her closer for more. They slant their lips over each others again and again, parting in a little gasps until she finally pulls away, leaving him with an unbearable longing for more contact. He needs to feel her skin on his own, her weight pressed against his.

“This isn't a pity fuck,” Lacey says as she looks down over him. “...Just so you know.” 

Gold is too far gone for the thought to have even crossed his mind. He nods, his wide eyes focused on her plumped lips.

Her eyes study him again and she bites back another smile. This one's different though. Less flirtatious, now timid. “You're um... you're a desirable man, Mr Gold. And as far as I can see, you're a uh, good father.” 

Gold doesn't dare question the sudden softness in her eyes, or where these words are coming from— verbally anyway. But he can't help the muscles in his face from doing so. She nods, and for a moment the two of them just look into each other's eyes. There's an intensity there Gold's never experienced before in his life. The spell is broken however when she laughs and shakes her head.

“Anyway, I expect you to hold up your end and shit…” She mumbles, unfastening his belt. She pulls it through the loops in one long, languid motion and drops it, the buckle clanking as it lands on the hardwood floor.

He winces at the sound and it's not until then that he notices just how much she's affecting him, as evidenced by the tenting in his trousers. She seems to catch him and shimmies down his thighs a little bit so she can unzip him, but stops short of it.

“Cat got your tongue?” She teases.

He feels like an idiot for being so quiet, but he's too enraptured to say anything. “...Aye.” He manages to choke out. “Something like that.”

She shrugs and proceeds to drag the zipper down, then raises herself over him again to start tugging his trousers past his hips. His cock springs free and he juts his hips off of the surface of the mattress to help as she undresses him. Once they're past his knees, he toes them off along with his shoes and socks.

Lacey straddles back over him and bends her arms behind her back to unclasp her little black bra. She shrugs it off and tosses it on the floor, and Gold's eyes immediately snap down to her breasts. Pale and soft with lovely pink nipples he can't wait to put his mouth on. He scolds himself for being such a passive participant. He's acting like a virgin, but he supposes in a way he is— because Lacey's making him feel things he’s never felt before.

She rolls off of his hips and settles beside him, taking a moment to squirm out of her panties. She traces a finger along his jawline, dragging it against his stubble, and he’s utterly transfixed. A mischievous little smirk plays at her lips and she continues the gesture, gradually becoming more insistent with it until he finally takes the hint and leans in to kiss her again.

He feels the slightest slightest grin form on his face just before their lips touch, and it's just as firm and heated as the last. He opens wide for her right away and her tongue charts every crevice of his mouth, finding pockets where the taste of his scotch still lingers. He doesn't try to wrest control of the kiss from her, only responds to and accommodates her as she explores.

Gold rests a hand on her waist, tracing his fingers over her soft skin. They glide down her hip and to her thigh where he squeezes gently, and Lacey begins slowly slinging her leg around his hip. She suddenly stops herself however, and they part from each other again, short of breath. Gold watches her with distressed eyes as she pulls away.

“Hang on.” She winks and rolls to the edge of the bed, pulling the top drawer of the nightstand open and plunging her arm inside. There's some rustling of the drawer’s contents and soon enough, she rolls back over and crawls up to his cock.

“First things first, right?” She says, holding up a little foil square between her fingers with a smile.

Gold nods quickly. “Yes. ...Please.” He doesn't even care how desperate and needy he sounds. 

She tears the wrapper open, crunches it in her fist, and tosses it on the floor before shifting on her knees slightly and beginning to roll the condom down his length. Lacey handles him with a kind of certainty that makes him feel a little self-conscious. Juvenile as it is, he can't help but wonder how he compares.

Whatever doubt he feels is vanquished when she climbs back over him and claims his mouth again. With the matter of protection out of the way, she's hungrier this time. A soft grunt escapes him as she takes his bottom lip between her teeth and tugs at it, and Gold's hands comb their way back into her hair. He gives into how starved he is and returns the gesture, nipping at her slick, plumped lips and driving his tongue inside of her.

They roll back onto their sides and Lacey slings her leg around him again. This time, he's able to position his leg between hers. He retreats from the warmth of her mouth and focuses his attention to her neck. One hand drapes behind her shoulders to support her head while the other caresses her waist. He begins charting kisses across her throat, which seems to tickle her slightly. She smiles, throwing her head back for him and tightening her grip on his neck and shoulders.

He continues to mouth at her throat as the hand on her waist slowly drifts upwards to palm over her breast. Her nipple hardens as he brushes over it, and he presses his hand into her tissue more firmly, enjoying the sensation of the tight bud against his palm. Lacey's drawing heaving breaths, her jaw slack with pleasure as she melts into his touch. He gives her small breast a gentle squeeze and shifts a little so that he can trail his lips down to it in a path of languid kisses that terminates at her pert, darkened nipple.

She lets out a gasp and arches into him, craving more as he whirls his deft tongue around it. He flicks at it a few times with the tip of his tongue, rendering it achingly stiff before he finally takes it into his mouth completely. Lacey's hips press against his involuntarily, but he shows no signs of moving on from where he is, his lips slipping and smacking against her saliva-slicked skin until she's shuddering from the tension building all over her body. Finally he pulls back, dragging her nipple with him before releasing it with a  _ pop _ which sends her small breast jiggling back into place.

He looks up at her and she darts a pointed glance at his warm, hard cock resting against his belly. He smiles knowingly and glides his hand down between her thighs. Rather than taking himself in hand however, he begins gently combing his fingers over her wet curls. It’s a ghost of a touch at first, but he soon shifts over her slightly and begins stroking her engorged folds more liberally, teasing her into a state of euphoria.

Lacey squirms and bites down on her lip, exhaling sharply as the little sparks of bliss ignite and fizzle, ignite and fizzle.

A self-satisfied smirk tugs at his lips. “You like that?” He hums.

She manages a whimper and nods.  _ “...Yes.” _

He gives her a kiss and pulls away with his smirk still firmly in place. “God, you’re so wet, Lacey…” He whispers and slips a finger inside her. He pumps slowly, and she spreads her thighs for him further in encouragement. He adds a second, and the heel of his palm presses into her swollen bud in tandem with the steady thrusts of his fingers. His hand grows coated with her essence and he silences her whimpers with a searing kiss. “...All of this for me?” He teases and swirls his fingers inside her, mapping her passage.

“Oh God,  _ Gold _ …” Lacey whines and he catches her eyes rolling back. He keeps going, watching for all the subtle jerks and sounds that evidence how good he's making her feel. He hasn't known the luxury of being responsible for a woman's pleasure in so long, and he's almost certain that this— her need of him in this moment— will be more gratifying than any orgasm he's likely to have tonight. Her moans grow louder and Gold redoubles his efforts, pushing his fingers deeper, rolling his thumb into her clit.

_ “Yes…”  _ She sighs, and he shifts over her further, burying his face in her neck. He nips and licks the skin, and can feel her moans as they vibrate in her throat. “That feels so— Oh God, yes!” She gasps and her head snaps to the side, holding him in place against her neck. His heavy breaths blanket her skin in warmth and she bucks her hips against him, riding his hand. Unable to resist the unintelligible sounds she makes, he caves in with the crook of his fingers and gives her what she needs.

With a strangled noise, Lacey's entire body tightens around him, clinging on while he slowly continues to pump his fingers, milking every last drop of pleasure from her. He waits until her body has fallen completely limp in his arms before finally slipping his fingers out of her. With another pleased smirk on his face, he draws his hand up to his lips and sucks his fingers clean, closing his eyes and humming with relish at her taste. He watches her for a moment as she recovers, proudly admiring the result of his efforts. Her breaths slow down and he presses a firm kiss to her lips before reaching back down between them and lining himself up at her entrance.

“Is this what you want, Lacey?” He whispers.

Lacey nods, still a little short of breath. “Please.”

It feels so wonderful to be wanted. To be chosen. She could ask him for the moon in this moment and he'd give it to her without a thought. But her request is far simpler— she only wants him, and by gods, will she have him. All of him. Every bit that he has to give.

They share a tremulous breath as he pushes inside of her, and Lacey immediately pulls him closer. She finds his lips again and devours him as he begins rolling his hips into her. He's gripping at her waist while she clutches at his hair, and Gold has never felt so wanted or needed in his life. He drives deeper into her and she lets out a heavy sigh that sends a warm breath brushing against his lips. Gold rolls her onto her back completely and settles between her thighs so he can give more of himself to her, and she parts for him with an urgency that spurs him on.

_ “Fuck.” _ She whimpers, rocking her hips into him. “Mm, yes.” They find a comfortable rhythm, stoking the flames together to the sound rustling sheets and their own heaving breaths. 

He realizes how quiet he's been and questions why. Typical, he thinks. Always holding back, always afraid to let on how he really feels. Not tonight, he decides. He feels fucking incredible and she deserves to know. He lets out a grunt, like some kind of animal and finds her lips again, biting and tugging at them fervently. He strengthens his thrusts and she cries out her approval. He hardly recognizes his own sounds at first, but soon the husky, gutteral utterances that accompany each thrust of his hips feel as natural as can be. Like something from a past life that is returning to his consciousness and coming into focus.

Gold's heart is pumping in a way he hasn't felt in years. Being inside of Lacey French, watching her writhe beneath him while he fucks her, makes him feel things he'd long since forgotten. There's a connection between them that just makes him feel so  _ alive.  _ For so long he's been a gutless hermit, spending his years watching from the borderlines, but Lacey is everything he’s not— a rolling stone, full of vigor and a lust for life.

_ “Fuck,  _ Lacey...” he grunts, “Fuck, you feel incredible.” There's something within her he can feel himself inch closer towards with each gasp he draws from her lips. A force, an energy he realizes his body needs to consume to live. He'd run out of it six years ago, but Lacey has it in spades and she gives it so freely to him with each roll of her hips.

Hope. It feels like hope.

What else would make it possible for someone surrounded by so much pain to keep trudging forward with a smile that stays on so stubbornly?

He lowers himself over her and drags his tongue from the valley of her breasts up to her neck. He reaches her ear and gently tugs at the lobe with his lips, and Lacey moans so sweetly for him in response. He nips at the surrounding skin and he's met with an impatient grunt before Lacey pulls away and rolls him onto his back.

She grinds against him in a languid rhythm, sweet and low and with such carnal determination. Her hands snake around his neck and pull their bodies closer as she buries her face in his shoulder, and Gold can feel each of her hot, labored breaths landing on his skin. She has him sheathed to the hilt and lets out rapt, shameless moans with each forward roll of her hips.

He rocks in rhythm against her and is rewarded with a beautiful whimper and an ardent bite on the neck.  _ “Shite!”  _ he hisses in equal parts pain and ecstasy, then splays his hands over her bottom, helping pull her closer on each push.

_ “Yes.”  _ She gasps and her pace snaps into a needier, more fevered tempo.  _ “Oh my God, yes! Fuck me!” _

Lacey's becoming so beautifully undone, Gold couldn't resist the urge to thrust into her with reckless abandon if he tried.  _ “That's it…”  _ he rasps, _ “good girl…”  _ Their hips slam into each other haphazardly and her eyes roll back, her mouth gaping open in ecstasy.  _ “Come for me, Lacey!” _ He begs. She whines and clutches onto him, and he's too far gone to feel her nails digging into his shoulders until she finally cries out and her entire body clenches around him. He forges ahead to the sound of her successive gasps and moans until he meets the same end, crying out as every muscle in his fraught body locks into place and he finds release.

Their dewy bodies lie in a tangle while they find their breath and recover their senses. Lacey bonelessly rolls off of him and onto her back, still panting.

“Christ.” She huffs out with a small chuckle and looks over to find him in much the same state. She reaches over and pulls the condom off of him, carelessly tossing it on the floor. As her breathing slowly returns to normal, she sprawls her limbs out, enjoying the feel of the cool air mingling with the hot, sweaty surface of her skin.

After a few minutes, the cold brings them back together and under the sheets, Gold spooned up behind her. He's burying his face in her neck again, inhaling the scent of her hair. It’s an oddly comforting blend of fruity notes and cigarette smoke, which he gathers is from the thick, hazy air at the bar. He can't recall her ever lighting a cigarette during the course of the evening, and her apartment smells reasonably pleasant despite all the mess it contains.

He rubs his hand over her arm and finds himself pressing a kiss to her shoulder, then another. His fingertips wander down her side and around her hip, before finding the patch of curls between her thighs and combing them gently. He's about to snake his arm back around her waist and pull her closer when she suddenly fidgets away from him. Before he can question it, Lacey's dangling off the edge of the bed and digging for something on the floor, giving him a full view of her round little bottom. She resurfaces with his phone in her hands and a little smile on her face, and settles back beside him.

Gold watches as she taps herself into his contacts, the screen's blue light illuminating her features. “Your number’s on your rent papers.” He informs her.

She groans and lowers the phone onto her belly, narrowing her eyes at him. “Shut up and let me give you my number like a normal person, will you?”

He leans over and presses another quick kiss to her shoulder. “Gladly.”

“So now if I call…” Lacey continues, finishing with his phone and setting it on the nightstand, “you'll have no excuse not to call me back, right?”

She has little smile on her face, and a hopeful spark in her eyes.”Wouldn't dream of it,” He hums, nuzzling her neck.

Lacey pulls the covers up over her chest and squirms up against him. “You know... you're actually kind of cute after you've had an orgasm.”

Gold scoffs. “And yet—” he murmurs, finding her lips for lazy kiss, “you're still the same naughty little temptress…” He trails off, pulling back to comb the flyaways out of her face with his fingers.

“Yeah, I really had to pull out all the stops for you.” She snorts, rolling her eyes. “I mean, who can resist my spiel about how much my life sucks?”

“I thought it was charming.” He says with a dopey smile.

“I'm glad one of us was.” She teases. “You still never thanked me for that drink, asshole.”

“Hm. You're right.” He shrugs. A little smirk plays at his lips the longer he watches her defeated expression.

She pushes him onto his back again and hovers over him closely. “...Fine,  _ prick _ .”

He cups her chin in his hand, gently brushing his thumb over her plump bottom lip. His eyes wander over her features for a moment before he cranes his head up to kiss her again. “...I told you the rumors were true, dearie.” He says huskily as he settles back against the pillows.

“You’re not an asshole, you just have a shit sense of humor.” Lacey groans, pulling away and throwing a pillow at his face.

Gold huffs out a laugh, but his smile quickly falters and he sighs. “How… How do you do it?”

Lacey furrows her brows. “Do what?”

“Go on living— enjoying life— when it's utter shite.”

Lacey laughs and presses her lips into a thin line as she considers her answer. “I um… I'm just a stubborn bitch, I guess.” She shrugs, rolling back onto her side. “Someone wants to drag me down, you bet your ass I'm taking them with with me. I... don’t give in without a fight.”

“I suppose.” Gold frowns. “I just feel like I haven't got any fight left in me.”

“Oh,  _ shut up!”  _ Lacey groans, rolling her eyes. “Of course you do!” She flops onto her belly and studies him for a moment, her expression softening. “I mean, don't get me wrong— There's a time for being angry and a time for sitting around and feeling sorry for yourself. But tonight you felt lonely, and you  _ did _ something about it.” A warm smile blooms across her face and she pokes her finger at his arm. “I'd say there's hope for you yet, Gold.” She winks.

He’s silent for a moment, his brows knit together in thoughtful consideration. “...I think you're just being nice.” He teases, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Lacey scowls. “Nah. I don't do that.” She deadpans, shaking her head. “Not to people who don't deserve it, anyway.” 

“I doubt I’m deserving of anyone's kindness.” He scoffs.

“You aren't.” She says flatly. “But that's how you know I'm keepin’ it real.” She adds with a smile, spooning her back up against him again.

They share a moment of companionable silence, Gold with his hand splayed across her belly, his thumb rubbing to and fro over her soft skin. Periodically, he lifts his head up to press a kiss to her neck or her shoulder. Her back. Her head. Anywhere. He briefly wonders if it’s too much, but she doesn’t seem to mind and he’s fairly certain that if she did, she’d not hesitate to let him know.

“...I had all these antiques at the house.” He offers.

Lacey chuckles at the non-sequitur and turns her head to him, waiting for him to continue.

“Years— hell,  _ decades _ — of collecting all this… fine china, bric-a-brac, y’know?”

Lacey snorts, “Yeah, and...?”

“I lost my temper that night and smashed it all to pieces. Just swung away at it with my cane until there was nothing left, while my ex-wife just stood back and watched.”

Lacey turns to face him completely. She purses her lips and offers nothing more than a, “Hm.”

“Never done anything like that before in my life.” He confesses. “It… felt good. But of course, she'd gone and taken pictures of all the damage… Suddenly the whole divorce was about how I was unstable. A threat to my family's safety. And I thought,  _ what a load of mince. _ But then when they told me I'd lost custody of Bae, the first thing I did was excuse myself to use the men's room. Not to cry or anything like that, but to—” Gold pauses and scoffs. “To do it again. Went up to— well, one of those stainless steel dispensers— and just started throwing punches at it until my knuckles bled.”

Lacey takes his hand and brushes her thumb over his knuckles. He flexes his fingers for her and his ring finger trembles involuntarily as it extends, a lingering effect of the damage he'd done to himself that day.

“And that felt good too.” He admits with a sigh, “But if I'm to get my boy back, Ah— I can't be doing that shite. If I ever did that around him, I'd never be able to forgive myself, you know? Maybe I  _ do _ have a problem.”

“Most of us do,” Lacey smiles.

He smiles back at her a little and continues. “They’ve got me taking these classes, and it's all about talking about your emotions, communicating the things that bother you. But I just— it feels pointless. My ex-wife doesn't want to talk to me. She could have talked to me six years ago. Told me she was unhappy, instead of fucking somebody else behind my back— and in my own house, no less. Where are  _ her _ bloody classes about communication?”

“Yeah, sounds like a shit deal.” Lacey sighs. “But people like that… they usually get what's coming to them sooner or later. It's written in the cosmos or some shit, I'm telling you.”

Gold lets out a chuckle.

“I'm serious!” She says, pushing herself up on her knees and waddling across the mattress to the nightstand. She plucks a tube of lip balm from the drawer and applies it generously, smacking her lips before tucking it away again. “That fiancé I told you about— royally fucked up some trade deal, got fired, and I'm pretty sure he was locked up a few months ago for insider trading, or whatever the hell it is smarmy white collar guys do.”

He narrows his eyes at her skeptically.

_ “Alright.” _ She deflates. “At least, that's what I tell myself.” She laughs. “I got better things to do than keep tabs on that asshole.”

Gold takes her hand and lures her back down beside him. “I suppose you have a point,” he admits reluctantly as she squirms up against him. “I shouldn't keep concerning myself with her. But it's… unbearable. Being alone in an empty house with nothing but your thoughts. I mean, I've always kept to myself more or less, but these past few months…” He wrings his hands together anxiously and sighs. “All I can think about is how it feels as though I've been cheated out of my own existence— the life that I've worked so hard for. Sure—” he shrugs, “I have money, the house, my  _ things _ , but it's never been about  _ me _ . It’s always been about my family, providing comfort for them. All that work, and it's all for nothing.”

“Money and comfort aren't everything.” Lacey points out. “My fiancé was loaded. Didn't make his shit stink any less.”

“Aye. I see that now.” He exhales, hiking his brows. “I only wish I'd seen it sooner.”

“Don't we all.” She scoffs and pouts in thought for a moment. “...Every time he hurt me, there'd be flowers the next morning. He'd apologize and tell me how sorry he was, how his feelings for me were just so overwhelming he’d lose control of himself. He'd take me out to dinner, buy me some new necklace or something. We'd fuck and I'd enjoy it.” She pauses and lets out another bitter scoff. “I used to think it was so romantic... until one day it just wasn't.”

Gold brushes his fingers against her cheek and tucks her hair behind her ear. Smiling weakly at her, he finds her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze that she reciprocates.

"I… When I did it, when I snapped— I don't think I did it because I was angry at her.” He ventures.

Lacey scoots closer and frowns. “What do you mean?”

“She told me I was like my father.”  He says. “I… I hated my father so much.  _ Feared _ him. But in that moment… The thought I might be anything like him made me so angry that I.... I  _ became him _ .” Gold glances away in shame and sighs. “I-I just want my boy to  _ love _ me. I want to be the father to him that I never had. To _ be there _ for him. And now I can't.”

“Sure you can.” Lacey snickers. “He ain't dead.”

“But things are so different now.”

“Only if you let them be.” Lacey says, tracing a circle around his navel with her finger. “You want a relationship with your son, you have to refuse to let anything stand in your way.” She looks up at him, nibbling her lip. “Not his mother, not some bullshit custody arrangement, and sure as hell not the temptation to sulk around and feel sorry for yourself.”

“Aye. I suppose you’re right.” Gold looks at the way the sheets are tangled around their limbs. He can't remember the last time he spoke so freely about how he was doing, how he was feeling. His fears. Nothing Lacey says feels like lip service, and her openness gives him the courage to do the same. For the first time in too long, he doesn't feel so alone. Not just physically, but mentally, emotionally. He feels understood.

“So...?” Lacey asks, “Now that you've had a couple drinks and gotten laid— How do you feel?”

Gold scoffs. “Better.”

Lacey pats a hand on his chest. “Yeah, a good fuck'll do that.” She snickers.

“No ah… truly.” He says, gently dragging a finger along her shoulder, tucking her hair back.  _ Gods, _ he can't stop touching her. “I think it did a lot of good for me to… get out. And you've ah, been delightful company.”

“You just gotta keep finding things to look forward to, I guess.” Lacey shrugs, sending her hair falling back into place. “Your favorite song, a cold beer... leaving the bar a hundred dollars richer than you walked in, compliments of Mr Clark’s shoddy pool game...  _ great sex.” _ She shifts a little to look up at him. “…Your turn. What about you?”

“My son.” He answers without hesitation.

Lacey raises her brows expectantly. “...And?”

Gold shrugs.

“Look, that's really sweet and all, but you can't be living  _ only _ for your son. That shit ain't healthy for either of you.” She objects. “Come on, what else?”

The corner of his mouth tugs upwards a little. “...A good scotch? Great sex?”

Lacey snorts again. “Fine, if nothing else, you just keep living out of spite, alright? Show the world that no matter how hard it tries to tear you down, you’re just just gonna keep doing your shit.” She pauses and grins devilishly. “…Really pisses some people off, it's great.”

“Well there's something I'm good at.”

“I've noticed.” Lacey smiles.

Gold suddenly sits up and scoots down the bed, pulling the covers away.

She rolls onto her back and watches with a puzzled scowl on her face. “Now what are you doing?” She laughs.

He settles on his knees between her legs and begins guiding them over his shoulders. “I think I'm ready to thank you for that drink now.”


	4. Chapter 4

Lacey's eyes flutter open as dawn breaks, filling her bedroom with a cool, bluish glow. She stretches and rolls her shoulders, quickly realizing her visitor from the night before is still in her bed, clinging to her like a lemur. She's startled at first, but a smile quickly blooms across her face as she recalls the gentle and passionate lover she had brought home. She slowly rolls over to look at him, finding his face dreamily content with sleep.

Her eyes dart past him and to the alarm clock on his side of the bed. 6:43 am.

Lacey sighs, loathe to leave the warmth of her bed and his arms. Had it been a Saturday, she'd happily stay in bed and request a repeat performance. Unfortunately however, duty calls at the florist. She squirms out of his arms and is peeling the covers off her body when he begins to stir. She freezes and waits, but it's no use. His eyes flutter open.

There's a fleeting look of confusion in his eyes as he takes in his surroundings, but he cracks a smile once his gaze lands on her face.

“Good morning,” he mumbles happily, letting out a groan as he stretches his arms out.

“I've certainly had worse.” She snorts, throwing the sheets off of her body and getting up before he can form the wrong impression. The look of confusion returns to his face. Well, this time it's more like panic.

“Where are you going?” He asks urgently, and the question stabs Lacey in the chest.

_ “Don't you ever just feel alone?” _

_ “It's unbearable.” _

_ “I was just a disappointment.” _

_ “Of course I blame myself.” _

She blinks hard and snaps the thoughts away.

“Some of us actually work for a living.” She deadpans.

“Oh.” He frowns, grabbing his phone off the nightstand and squinting at its screen. He cards a hand through his hair and sighs. “Right.”

Lacey chuckles. “Shocker I know,  _ sunshine.” _

“I forgot.” He grunts, setting his phone back down.

“How the other half lives?”

Gold narrows his eyes at her for a moment, then presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and drops back against the pillows with a sigh. “What day it was.”

A little smirk plays at her lips. “That good, huh?”

“Well…  _ I've certainly had worse,” _ he mocks.

“Look, I'm uh, gonna hop in the shower, alright?”

An adorable little smile tugs at his lips. “...Would you like company?”

_ “Tempting.” _ Lacey says, tilting her head to the side in consideration. “...But if I'm late again, I won't hear the end of it.” She says, searching the floor for her clothes. “Besides, shower sex kind of sucks.”

Gold scoffs. “I ah, won't argue that,” he says, nodding at his ankle. “Bit of a death sentence where I'm concerned.”

Lacey huffs out a laugh and presses her lips together for a moment. “...You can uh, hang around though?” She suggests as she plucks an outfit off of the floor and tosses it on the bed. The corner of her mouth tugs upwards into a playful grin. “...Being served coffee in the morning by a sexy Scotsman is one of my wildest erotic fantasies, you know.”

“Well,” Gold laughs, sitting up and swinging his legs off the side of the bed. “Ah’m no’ sure Ah’m qualified fi that, hen.” He says thickly as he rubs away the stiffness in his ankle.

Lacey rolls her eyes.  _ “Yeah you are,” _ She winks before slipping into the bathroom.

She starts the shower and gazes in the mirror as the water heats up, her hands planted on either side of the sink. Her image recedes as the steam begins to fog the glass, and she smiles weakly at her fading reflection. She fixates on the lovebite on her neck until her reflection has vanished completely, then steps into the shower.

_ “Lacey, I'm so sorry, baby. I was out of line.” _

_ “Babe, you gotta forgive me. Gimme another chance to do right by you.” _

_ “Pack a bag, honey. We're gonna go to Maui. A few days, relax in the sun, start over.” _

_ “Lace, I love you so much. Why wait— let's move up the wedding.” _

_ “After everything I've done for you, Lace? This is the thanks I get?” _

_ “Why do you have to ruin everything? I love you, but you're so goddamned stupid, Lace!” _

_ “Where the hell do you think you're going? Get back over here!” _

_ “Maybe if you started showing a little more appreciation around here, you'd get a little more respect!” _

She clenches her eyes shut and shakes her head, willing the memories away.

“Do the brave thing and bravery will follow.” Lacey whispers tremulously. “Do the brave thing and bravery will follow… Do the brave thing...”

She takes a deep breath and rinses the shampoo out of her hair. As she massages the conditioner in, she tries to conjure more pleasant thoughts. 

_ “I don't think that makes you stupid.” _

“ _ I'm glad you got out of there.” _

_ “That must have been overwhelming for you.” _

_ “You've made what I expected to be a terribly dull evening a thoroughly pleasant one.” _

_ “You've been delightful company.” _

Lacey thinks back to the way he touched and pleased her last night. The way he smiled at her when he woke up. She rinses her hair again and finishes up her shower with an unfamiliar warmth in her chest.

When Lacey steps out of the bathroom, she's greeted by the aroma of freshly brewed cheap coffee. She pads into the kitchenette to find Mr Gold leaning against the counter in his boxers and half-buttoned shirt, elbows tucked into himself while he sips from her mug that reads,  _ Probably Whiskey _ . He looks so much tinier, now that she really looks at him in the light without his suit on. His legs are thin with knobby knees, and the calf of his bad leg has a visible, though not immediately apparent degree of atrophy.

At the sound of her footsteps, he sets his coffee down and grabs a second cup off the counter. It's her personal favorite:  _ It's A Fuckity-Doo-Dah Day. _

He clears his throat. “I ah, wasn't sure if you took any milk or sugar? ...Didn't see any creamer.” He says with a shrug.

“Nope.” Lacey smiles as she accepts it from him, noticing that he too has a mark of their passion on his neck. She holds the mug up and taps a finger on it. “...Good choice.” She winks.

“You  _ do _ have quite the collection.” He chuckles. “Was tempted by the  _ Cunt _ one myself.”

“Really? Not  _ Classy Motherfucker?”  _ She laughs.

Gold hikes his brows. “Must have missed that one,” he says with a lopsided grin that gives her a glimpse of his dimples.

“Yeah, it's… a thing I guess.” Lacey mumbles into her mug before taking a sip, hoping to conceal the blush she can feel rising to her cheeks. She's never had a visitor stay for coffee before, and letting Gold see her novelty mug collection was already feeling akin to baring her soul.

It might seem backwards, to be embarrassed by something as silly as a handful of cheeky mugs after all the things they'd talked about last night. But these days it's easier to show the world the side of herself that's bitter and guarded and justified in its apathy and contempt. What's hard is showing people the side that still finds joy in the little things. The side that still has hope, for it's such a rare and fragile thing.

Lacey supposes it's what draws her to him. A sort of kindred spirit who’s also taken to parading their darkness and pain instead of wearing their hope on their sleeve. Someone who understands.

She sets her coffee down and smacks her lips. “There's uh, some  _ Coco Pops _ in the cabinet behind you,” she says, trying her best to keep a straight face. “Could you—”

_ “Yes.” _ He nods quickly, spinning around. “Yes, of course.” He opens the cabinet and slowly takes the box out, scrutinizing the front of it as he hands it over.

“Yeah,” Lacey mumbles and hangs her head in shame, “I know this shit is like, pure sugar, but—”

“Oh no.” He shakes his head. “I just—” he huffs out a laugh and smiles, gesturing at the box. “They look so different from when I was a boy, is all.”

“Well, technically… these are Cocoa  _ Krispies _ .” Lacey murmurs, tapping a finger on the front of the box. “...US market.” She winks.

“Ah. Forgive me.”

She sets the box down and struts across the kitchenette to fetch a carton of milk from the fridge. She opens one of the cabinets for a bowl and hesitates before tossing a glance over her shoulder at him. “...You want some?” She asks.

A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth for a moment, but he ultimately shrugs and buries his face in his coffee in favor of answering.

“Come on…” she teases, “When's the last time you had a bowl of Coco Pops?”

The full glory of his smile breaks through and he chuckles. “...Too long ago, apparently.”

“Thought so.” She laughs, grabbing a second bowl.

Lacey insists he sit down on one of the barstools, but seems to favor staying on her feet herself.

“Tell me when,” she instructs as she pours milk over the cereal in his bowl. It fills nearly to the brim, but he just looks away innocently, a little smirk slanting his lips. Finally, Lacey stops pouring and glares at him. 

“...What?” He asks coyly, knitting his brows together. “The leftover chocolate milk is the best part, Miss French. I intend to have plenty of it.”

“You're an ass.” She teases, narrowing her eyes and pouring another splash into his bowl before filling her own.

He takes a spoonful and drains the milk from it so it can steep in the bowl longer. “...Can't say I never warned you,” he hums before popping it into his mouth.

She shoots him an indignant look and watches as he happily munches his cereal. He pokes his spoon through his bowl, the milk slowly turning brown as he stirs its contents about. Lacey smiles inwardly at the privileged information she now possesses: Mr Gold— Town Monster and Beast of Storybrooke— likes his  _ Coco Pops _ with extra milk because “that's the best part”. 

  
  


*****

  
  


As soon as Lacey leaves for work, Gold can feel the beginnings of anxiety bubbling in his gut. It's the same every week— he thought he'd be over it by now, but the dread of having to go to his group therapy session still makes him feel sick to his stomach.

As a distraction, he paces around her apartment, observing all the little things she's done with the place. She seems to collect a lot more than just silly mugs. Every surface in her living room has some sort of skull on it. All different sizes and colors. Art prints, throw pillows, coasters. Some of them are on shot glasses, others are votive candle holders, or candles themselves. A few are striking in their realism, while others are painted with fascinating designs, or molded out of acrylic in a variety of bold colors.

He briefly wonders if her fascination with skulls is simply rooted in aesthetics, or if it's some kind of statement on mortality— a reminder of the fragility of life and how limited our time on this is earth really is. He thinks back to this collection of china and knick-knacks he’d destroyed in his fit of rage, recalling the little burst of joy he'd feel when he added a new acquisition to his shelves. He decides that's the important thing— That every skull in her apartment marks a tiny spurt of happiness she’d felt at one time or another. The thought warms his chest and makes him smile.

There’s a guitar case that looks oddly familiar to him, and the wall above a beat-up Crosley record player holds a shelf that proudly displays four equally beat-up Van Halen LPs. The floor below it is littered with three crates packed with more albums and 45s, and surely enough, lying atop one of them is a single—  _ The Show Must Go On _ . He picks it up and finds the sleeve is empty, but a quick search reveals the record is sitting on the turntable, ready to be played.

Gold studies the sleeve again. After a moment's hesitation, he clicks the turntable on. He watches as the arm swings over and the needle gently descends onto the vinyl. A pulsing synth line begins to play and he settles on the couch to listen. As the vocals come in, he recalls the story Lacey told him last night. How she had let go of her dreams of becoming a singer to escape an abusive fiancé. How the powerful voice he hears belongs to a man who was at death's door.

He imagines Lacey flitting about the apartment and singing along, and the significance of it all hits him. This song is her mantra. A source of comfort during times of overwhelming loss, emptiness, and despair. And she, recognizing these were precisely the sort of times he'd found himself in, shared it with him.

This record has been sitting on the turntable. She's been listening to it, and frequently enough that she hasn't bothered to return it to the safety of its sleeve. Last night, Gold assumed that Lacey had already won the war against her past. But now he realizes how wrong he was. She’s still fighting.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

Mr Gold stares at the clock that hangs above the double doors on the wall opposite him, watching the second hand tick away. He's almost certain it's running slow. It has to be. It's torture to watch, and he can feel the temperature of his blood rising with each little click. He needs a distraction from this place and the peculiar odor of dried sweat and rubber that fills the air.

He pulls his eyes away and makes the tragic mistake of glancing in Zelena's direction, finding her staring at him like he's some kind of optical illusion— one of those Escher drawings with the never-ending staircases that go upside-down, sideways, and back upright again. She smiles prettily at him and he quickly shifts his focus to the various lines and circles that cover the polished wood floors. He lets out a sigh. May as well just pay attention.

“So I’m right behind him, nail file in my hand… but then I stopped myself! I thought,  _ ‘Cruella darling, if you make a bloody mess, you'll ruin your new coat! Are a few of Isaac's chin hairs in the sink really worth it?’” _

The lavishly dressed woman pauses and smiles proudly at all the rapt faces in the room.

“The answer, darlings— was _ no. _ ” She finishes dramatically, folding her gloved hands primly in her lap.

“That's wonderful, Ms DeVille!” Dr Hopper says over the small applause that erupts in the community center. “Excellent example of demonstrating self-awareness in a stressful situation.” He waits for the room to quiet down and continues, “When we feel anger, it's important to try to stop and identify what the triggering factors are and consider the consequences of whatever it is we're feeling tempted to do or say.”

The group murmurs in agreement and Dr Hopper glances around the circle for another volunteer. Gold looks off distantly through the window, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. “We haven't heard from you in a while, Mr Gold.” Dr Hopper observes. “Is there anything you'd like to share with the group?”

Gold looks around the room and scratches his chin hesitantly for a moment while he resigns himself to his fate. He decided not to shave this morning. Figured it might grow on him. “I ah, went out last night.” He shrugs.

“That's good. I understand you're a bit of a homebody, but it's important to get a change of scenery every once in awhile, to interrupt our routines. Could you tell us about it?”

He really doesn't want to. “I just went to the bar.” He exhales.

Dr Hopper purses his lips and tilts his head, trying not to look too apprehensive about this information. “Did you do anything in particular while you were there?”

Gold tries not to let his indignance show too much. After all, Dr Hopper has a way of getting the information out of him one way or another. May as well get on with it. “Just… had a few drinks. This woman introduced herself. We talked.”

A few men in the group wolf-whistle, followed by a handful of women groaning. Dr Hopper gestures for everyone to be quiet.

“I ah, told her about the divorce.” Gold continues. “My father. Bae. These classes, why I'm here.”

“That's… that's great, Mr Gold!” Dr Hopper comments, visibly thrilled by the minimal amount of tooth-pulling necessary this time. “When you're open about these things right off the bat, it's easier to establish an ongoing dialogue. And of course, the less we try bottle up and conceal our stress, the less likely we are to have an episode.”

Gold tries not to roll his eyes. He could take a shite and the man would find a way to spin it into some kind of earth-shattering accomplishment on par with the discovery of gravity.

“How did  _ you _ feel about it though—” Hopper continues, “Did you feel relieved about what you shared, or were you anxious afterward? …Perhaps a combination of the two, or neither?”

Gold can't stop himself from groaning internally.  _ More questions. _ He replays the events at the bar in his head for a moment and clears his throat. “I felt… good about it, ye know? She told me about a bad situation she'd gotten herself out of, and how she's been dealing wi’that. It was nice to not have to talk mince about the weather at the weekend, or the New England game, or some other tired shite like that.”

Dr Hopper chuckles. “Definitely. It's important to be able to make those more intimate connections and establish relationships with people you can emotionally unpack with.”

Gold looks down at his lap and wrings his hands together. “She… gave me her phone number. So, I think I'll ah— maybe see about talking to her again.” He mumbles shyly.

Dr Hopper shifts in his seat and nudges his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Your divorce was finalized six months ago, and you mentioned you'd been separated for some time prior to that. Have you given any thought to dating again?”

_ Christ. _ Why does he get all the blasted questions? “...Ah dunno.” Gold says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I might fancy her enough, I suppose.” He adds, trying to fight back the little smile tugging at his lips.

_ “I don't trust her.” _ Zelena snaps bitterly. “Sounds like she just wants to get in your pants.”

“Miss Greene,” Dr Hopper clips, “everyone's voice here matters, but it's important that we give each other time to share and don't speak out of turn. If you have something you'd like to share, you can raise your hand, but please don't interrupt.”

Zelena rolls her eyes. “Fine.”

“Regardless, Mr Gold,” Dr Hopper continues, “I hope you'll create a pattern of being emotionally honest and open in any new relationships you develop, romantic or otherwise.”

“Aye. Definitely.”

“Good.” Dr Hopper nods and smiles. “That's very good. Thank you for sharing, Mr Gold.” He pans over the circle of faces and stops at Arthur King, who's raised his hand. “Yes, Mr King?” He asks a little reluctantly.

“Yeah, I have a question for Gold.”

Dr Hopper turns to him and raises his brows.

Gold smoothes his palms over thighs takes a deep breath. Nods. “Aye, of course.”

“Did you shag her?” Arthur asks with a self-satisfied grin, and half the group howls.

“Yeah, was she hot?” Another voice asks. “A ten? Eight and a half?”

“Mr King, I don't think that's an appropriate question for the group.” Dr Hopper says.

“What? I thought  _ intimate  _ connections were important.” He guffaws.

Gold's tempted to say,  _ “Yes, Arthur, we fucked all night, and unlike you I didn't have to gaslight her to do it.” _ But he holds his tongue and takes a deep breath. “I do believe Dr Hopper was referring to  _ emotionally _ intimate connections, Mr King.” He chooses instead.

Arthur scowls. “Whatever.”

“Does anybody else have any questions?”

Zelena's hand snaps up.

“Yes, Miss Greene.”

“I think Gold's little tryst is perfectly germane to the conversation.” She mutters, tapping her foot impatiently. “You advised us against pursuing romantic relationships until we feel we've made enough progress— I'm simply concerned for our friend here.”

“That's a valid concern, Miss Greene. And thank you for raising your hand. However, it's not up to me to tell each of you what kind of relationships you are or are not ready for. That's something each of you will have to feel out yourselves. That being said, if anyone here has been struggling to navigate any developments in that department, I'd be happy to discuss those with you in private during office hours.”

Zelena folds her arms over her chest and huffs.

“I think we're losing sight of what's important about Mr Gold's story though, and that's the fact that he willingly shared with someone outside of our group, which is a very brave thing, isn't it?”

A few nods,  _ good jobs,  _ and claps swell around the circle and quickly die down.

“Anybody else?”

“How— I'm sorry.” Elsa Andersen stammers, bowing her head and raising her hand.

“Go ahead, Miss Andersen.” Dr Hopper nods.

She clears her throat and anxiously runs her fingers through her blonde hair. “How do you just… let yourself go like that? To a-a complete stranger? I—My sister…I couldn't...” She trails off.

“That's an excellent question, Miss Andersen.” Dr Hopper smiles. “Sometimes it's hardest to open up to the people we're closest to, because we fear that they'll be insulted or feel betrayed by what we tell them— That we'll push them further away. For a lot of people, it's easier to share with a stranger or casual acquaintance because that history and emotional investment isn't there.”

Elsa nods her understanding.

“If you don't feel ready to be open with your sister, maybe you could try sharing with a stranger or acquaintance instead. …Perhaps you could elaborate on your experience, Mr Gold?”

“...Aye.” He clears his throat and nods stiffly. “Ah… when I first sat at the bar, I was really trying to keep to myself. So when this woman sat down next to me, I was kind of thinking to myself,  _ ah shite, oan yer bike, bugger off _ , ye know?”

A few members of the group laugh and nod in agreement.

“But she just started talking to me. She shared all these things while I just listened, and next thing I know, she's asking me, ‘Well, what about  _ you?’ _ and— I… I was scared at first. Embarrassed. But I told her one wee thing and it felt good to do that. Talked her ear off after that, I'm afraid.” He chuckles nervously.

“Very good, Mr Gold.” Dr Hopper smiles. “I'm glad you described your anxiety and instinct to push away at first, because I think that's the biggest barrier for most of us here. But as you pointed out, you don't have to unpack everything all at once. It's perfectly fine and I encourage you all to take baby steps and start with something small.”

After a few more shares, Dr Hopper dismisses the group with the task of unpacking something this week, no matter with whom or how small. Before Gold can escape out the door however, the doctor approaches him.

“Mr Gold.” He says with a friendly, disarming smile.

“...Dr Hopper.”

“I just wanted to say that I'm glad you shared with the group today. I recall your first time, you expressed some reluctance, that you didn't feel you belonged here. But I think you've made a lot of progress.”

“Aye, I suppose.” Gold shrugs. He has no idea what the hell he's talking about. Progress? _ What progress? _ Managing not to have a square go at any more pottery? He's just as miserable now as he was six months ago. All he's managed to accomplish is drinking and getting laid.

“Look,” Dr Hopper says, nudging his glasses up again, “I know you're just here on a court mandate and you only have two more sessions left. But I strongly encourage you to continue attending the meetings beyond that.”

“I ah… I'll consider it, doctor.” He mumbles evasively.

“Please do.” Dr Hopper nods sincerely. After a moment, he knits his brows together and inches a little closer, wetting his lips. “Mr Gold— if you were to voluntarily continue therapy, it would reflect very highly of you at your next custody review,” he says quietly, “and I'd be happy to inform Judge Mills of your tremendous progress and commitment to the program.”

“I—” Gold gives him a tight-lipped smile. He knows his life will never go back to the way it was, but perhaps the damage done to his relationship with Bae can be undone after all. “I'll… definitely think about it, doctor. Thank you.”

Dr Hopper gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Enjoy your afternoon, Mr Gold.”

  
  
  


*****

  
  
  


Lacey returns from lunch and sets her purse down in the back room of the florist shop. It’s been a slow day, allowing her mind to repeatedly drift away from her work in favor of her night with Mr Gold. She’d taken plenty of strangers home since moving back to Storybrooke, but she never connected with any of them quite as well as she did with him. She’s making room in the mini-fridge for her leftover pizza from Marco’s when she hears her father barrelling down the stairs.

“Lacey! What’s this I hear about you talking to  _ Gold?!” _

Lacey rolls her eyes. Word travels way too quickly around this godforsaken town. “I talked to Gold.” She shrugs. “What of it?”

“I don’t like the idea of my little girl talking to that man.” He huffs as he makes it to the bottom of the steps.

“I’m not your little girl anymore, dad…” Lacey groans and shoves her to-go box precariously on one of the shelves in the fridge, slamming the door shut before it can fall out. “And I hate to break it you, but the guy  _ is _ my landlord,” she snickers. “I kinda talk to him every month.”

“Well.” He bristles. “I don’t care, Lace. That man is the lowest of the low.”

“Says the guy who owes him ten grand,” she snorts, plucking an apron off one of the wall hooks and pulling it over her head. She fastens it snugly around her waist and throws her arms up. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“He’s a scoundrel!” Moe blurts. “You’ve seen it yourself! How happy he is to waltz in the  _ moment  _ the rent is late, that bastard!”

Lacey laughs. “That’s just business, dad. It’s not his fault you can’t pay the rent on time.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He grunts. “Point is, it’s bad enough you’re always parading around town dressed like some—” His eyes snap away from her and toward the floor as a blush rises to his already reddened cheeks, “some  _ hussy!” _ He finishes. “The things people say about you— my own daughter! Now I get to hear about how you left the Rabbit Hole last night, arm in arm with the town beast?!”

“Jesus Christ!” Lacey groans, throwing her head back. “Can everyone stop calling him that?!” She shakes her head. “He’s just a regular guy. I really don’t understand why everyone seems to think he’s the fuckin’ devil or some shit.” She huffs and snatches the box cutter off the counter. She steps up to the lift dolly by the back door and steers to over to the work table. She opens the box of vases sitting atop it and Moe sighs, stepping over to help her unpack. He moves so slowly though, and Lacey wonders why he bothers.

“I just worry about you, Lace.” He offers. “After what you let that Gaston fellow do to you.”

Lacey clenches her jaw and tightens her grip on the vase in her hand, summoning the will not to scream and smack her father across his cherry red, hypertensive face.

“I didn’t  _ let him _ do anything…” She grits through her teeth, setting the vase down before she can crush it with her bare hands.

Moe raises his brows and scoffs in disbelief. “Lacey please!” When you came home from New York you looked like an old rag doll! Rail thin! Bruises like—”

“Thanks, dad!” She grunts. “I’d almost forgotten,” she mutters as she continues counting out the vases, lining them up across the work table. He cringes as she slams each of them down, fully expecting one of them to shatter.

“I just don’t understand why you involve yourself with men like—”

“Like  _ what?!” _ She screams. “Like what, dad?!”

Moe glances away. “Nothing.” He mumbles.

“Besides—” She sighs, rubbing a hand over her face, pulling the flyaways out of her eyes. “What makes you think I  _ involved  _ myself with—”

“I took lunch at Granny’s.” He says calmly. “Everyone’s saying Gold was seen leaving your building this morning!”

“Yeah, and...?” She presses, but her father only stammers, his mouth flopping open and closed. “He  _ owns  _ the building, dad. For fuck’s sake,” she trails off, muttering further obscenities under breath as she stomps over to the floral refrigerator.

“So we’re to believe it’s just a coincidence then?” He snips back, “That it has nothing to do with the fact that you left the bar with him last night?”

Lacey lets out a deep sigh, her eyes panning over the wall of flowers before her. _ “No,” _ she admits. “I just don’t understand why I can’t—” She cuts herself off and shakes her head. Grabs a bucket of white rose stems. “Nevermind.”

“What?”

Her eyes search the fridge again, and she grabs another bucket. Baby’s breath. “I said nevermind.”

Moe’s face goes as pale as a peace lily. “So it’s true then?! That man…  _ had his way _ with my daughter?!”

Lacey kicks the door open and sets the buckets down on the counter. She returns to the fridge for the hydrangea before knocking the door closed with a swing of her hips. Ignoring her father, she begins laying the blooms out beside each of the vases.

“Lace…”

“He didn’t have his way with me,” she snips. “I had  _ my way _ with him.”

“God damn it, Lacey!” Moe cries. “I don’t know where you got your mouth—”

“Oh, shut up! I had sex with him, dad! Get over it.”

“Oh, Jesus…” He grumbles. “Lacey, I don’t want my little girl being taken advantage of.”

Lacey chuckles humorlessly and grabs the shears. “Listen, dad.” She says, holding them up to his face threateningly.  _ “I _ approached him.  _ I _ bought him a drink.  _ I _ flirted with him.  _ I _ asked him to walk me home.  _ I _ invited him inside, and  _ I _ took him to  _ my _ bed.”

Moe scowls in disgust and swats her weapon-wielding hand away. “Why in God’s name would you do that?!” He cries. “What, are you after his money?” He huffs and stammers for a moment, shaking his head. “That’s just the cherry on top, isn’t it? That my Lacey is some…  _ gold digger!” _

“I don’t give two shits about his money!” Lacey laughs, setting the shears down. She smiles and drops one of the arrangements into a vase, eyeing how much trimming they’ll need. “...I always thought he was kinda hot. And now he’s single,” she shrugs.

“Oh, he’s single alright! Divorced and lost custody of his son! I mean, what kind of a man—”

_ “Maybe— _ if you stopped putting so much stock in idle gossip and pulled your head out of your ass, you’d see he’s a perfectly nice guy who’s just—” She pauses and sighs. “...down on his luck.”

“Not down enough, if you ask me,” Moe scoffs. “And what, now you just…  _ give yourself _ to anyone you feel sorry for?”

“I don’t feel sorry for him, dad! I  _ empathize  _ with him!” She snaps. “Both of us know what it’s like to have people whispering shit behind our backs everywhere we go.”

“Well, maybe if you stopped  _ giving _ the town something to talk about…”

“You mean change who I am? No.” She refuses. “Fuck that, I’m not sipping the kool-aid.”

Moe fumbles his hands and sighs. 

“Might it have occurred to you that I had sex with him because I actually  _ like  _ him?”

“Would you  _ please  _ stop saying that?!” Moe begs. “Your poor father doesn’t need to be reminded of the kinds of things his daughter does with her body in her free time. ...Especially if it involves  _ him _ .”

“Well I’d love to tell  _ mom, _ but…”

_ “Don’t.” _ He grunts, glaring at her.

“...Whatever.” Lacey says flatly. “Gold and I fucked all night long, I loved every minute of it, and I can’t wait to do it again!” She declares boldly, returning to the bouquets with nonchalance.

“You’re trying to kill me.” Moe whines. “You  _ want _ me to have a heart attack.”

“No…” She bellows, picking up the shears again and beginning to trim the arrangements. “I want you to stop treating me like a child. Why do you think I moved out in the first place, hmm?”

“I just wor—”

“Worry, I know.” Lacey groans. “That’s all you ever do, isn’t it?” The trimmings fly across the room as she clips away, and Moe flinches as one nearly hits him in the eye.

“Can you blame me, after what happened?”

“Yeah, well, I’m over it now.” She sighs. “At least, I’m trying, okay? I mean, how am I supposed to move on and live my life if I keep letting what that piece of shit did to me loom over every decision I make? How I dress, what I eat, who I fuck...”

Moe’s expression softens, but he doesn’t say anything.

“When I came back home, everybody treated me like I was made of glass. So yeah, dad— I acted out for a while— I drank myself into a coma every night and slept around. But I’m done with that, alright? You don’t have to worry anymore. I haven’t had a night like that in months.  _ Honest.” _ Lacey finishes trimming the last bouquet and sighs. “Last night—” She pauses and presses her lips into a thin line for a moment. “I don’t know.” She shrugs. “It was different. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel used afterward.”

The shop falls silent and Lacey begins arranging each of the bouquets in their vases.

“...Water.” Moe corrects weakly and Lacey groans.

She spins toward the faucet and grabs a tub of additive off the shelf. “I don’t expect you to understand,” she says, shaking a measure of the white granules in each vase. “It’s just— I’m trying to be a survivor and all you want to do is tell me how I’m a victim.”

Moe slouches and grabs the first two vases, carrying them over to the sink to fill them up. “I’m… I’m sorry.” He mumbles. “Lace, I— I didn’t realize…”

“Yeah, I know,” She chuckles weakly and joins him at the sink. “You’ve always been a little slow,” she teases and takes the filled vases from him, setting them back on the table and returning with the next two.

“I just… I love you, Lace.” He mumbles shyly. “I want my little girl to be happy.”

“I know.” She smiles weakly. “I love you too, dad.”


	6. Chapter 6

Mr Gold is waiting in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and staring at Lacey's number on his phone. 

He knows he won’t call her. At least not yet.

Before leaving her apartment yesterday, he had texted her a quick,  _ ‘have a nice day at work’.  _ She responded with  _ ‘thank you’ _ and a smiley face, and he was content to end the correspondence there. As much as he enjoyed her company and the warmth of her bed, he isn’t sure he’s ready to jump into anything new just yet. 

That’s what he’s trying to convince himself of, anyway.

The truth is that he’s somewhat startled by how much she’s impressed upon him already. He wants to talk to her again. Drink with her again. Have sex with her again. Just be around her again. For a few blissful hours that night, she replaced the empty feeling in his gut with something warm and satisfying. She told him things weren’t so bad, and in that moment, he could believe her. He could hope. The truth is that he wants to call her so badly, but he’s certain it would come off as clingy and desperate to do so. Everyone leaves, he reminds himself. But perhaps he can postpone the inevitable long enough if he keeps his distance.

No, no. He won’t call her just yet.

Jefferson will be at the house with Bae any minute now, and Gold’s trying to remember the pep talk she gave him the other night. He isn’t going to let the hurdle of the custody arrangement drive a wedge between him and his son. He feels ashamed now, to think how despondent he’s been during what little time he gets with Bae. Of course he doesn’t know how to act around his papa anymore— and it’s nothing to do with Milah. It’s his own fault. The man he’s been these past several months is hardly recognizable from the man who used to read to him before bed and do all the silly voices. Who used to help him build pinewood derby cars for Boy Scouts. But today Gold is determined to be optimistic— to make the most out of the afternoon, to make Bae smile and laugh like he used to, before all this mess happened.

He went grocery shopping on his way home from group yesterday, bought himself some real food for the first time in two months, and picked up a few of Bae’s favorite snacks for them to share. He made himself an actual balanced breakfast this morning and even kind of enjoyed it. It had all taken a herculean effort of course, but he truly is beginning to feel better already. Perhaps there really is something to the whole  _ fake it till you make it _ thing, after all.

He finally shaved as well. The thing was quickly becoming too damned itchy, and Gold decided the man in the mirror this morning looked like some kind of sleep-deprived, caffeine-addled ragamuffin. Surely, he was only one of those things.

There’s finally a knock at the door and he hurries over to answer it. He pauses when his hand rests on the door knob and reminds himself to smile. For Bae.

“Look who it is!” Jefferson sing-songs as the door swings open. For a few uncomfortable seconds, the three of them just stare at each other in silence.

“...Papa!” Bae finally grins from ear to ear and throws his arms around his father’s legs, almost knocking him back.

Gold squats down and hoists his son up in his arms— twisted ankle be damned— and presses a kiss to his head. “There’s my boy!” He smiles, bouncing Bae in his arms briefly while his tiny limbs wrap around his torso. “My, you’re getting heavy!” He grunts as he adjusts his grip.

Jefferson watches the pair of them with a smile on his face before suddenly shaking his head. “They grow like weeds, that’s for certain,” He chuckles as they finally step inside.

“I weigh forty-seven pounds!” Bae informs them proudly.

“Aye? Is that right?” Gold asks encouragingly as he carries him into the house.

“Mhmm!” He beams. “We had benchmarks in gym this week! I can do  _ sixteen _ push-ups and forty-two sit-ups!”

“Regular man of steel, this one,” Jefferson laughs.

“Must be,” Gold scoffs, “‘Cause I’m afraid your papa can’t carry you like this anymore,” He admits to his son, setting him down on the living room sofa.

Bae whines in protest, bit is paddling his feet gleefully hardly a moment later. “I missed you, papa!”

Gold feels as though his heart might burst into a flurry of stars. He squats down again and gives his son a tight hug. “I missed you too, son.” He whispers, petting a hand over the boy’s dark, shaggy hair. “Very much.”

“You did?” Bae mumbles into his shoulder. There’s a curious note in his voice that sounds so genuinely uncertain and it wrenches at Gold’s gut. He’s given his own son reason to doubt his love for him.

He pulls away and gives his son a wan smile.  _ “Of course I did.” _ He says, his smile widening as he taps a finger on his nose.

Bae’s face brightens with easy acceptance. “What are we gonna do  _ today, _ papa?”

“Same thing the Golds do every day…” Jefferson murmurs, “Try to take over the world.”

Gold narrows his eyes at him and Bae giggles. “Actually, I was thinking smaller. Like the zoo?”

Jefferson rolls his eyes playfully. “Yes, well, I suppose that will just have to do,” he sighs in feigned lament.

Gold makes a note to himself to thank Jefferson for everything. The man’s bizarre, but he's always been there for Bae since the day he was born, never once bucking under the weight of the vitriol between him and Milah when the two of them were at their worst.

  
  


*****

  
  


“I don’t see him, Papa.” Bae pouts, rising to his tippy toes to peer over the railing and into the enclosure.

Gold crouches down and points at the set of eyes peeking out just above the water's surface. “Right there, Bae. See how he’s hiding?”

Bae frowns until the creature moves slightly, sending ripples through the water.  _ “Whoa!” _ He gasps and his face lights up, watching a the West African Dwarf Crocodile climbs onto the bank to sunbathe. “Did you see that, papa?!”

Gold chuckles and nods, his eyes glued to the smile on his son’s face. “Aye, I did.”

“So cool!” Bae crows and leans further against the railing, his eyes full of wonder. Gold scoffs and returns to his feet, setting his hands protectively over his shoulders. Bae turns to look up at him expectantly.

Gold takes a moment to note all the features of his son's face. “What is it, Bae?”

“Crocodiles have been around since the Cretaceous period, papa.” He informs proudly.

Gold smiles, eager to hear what his son has to say about the subject. “Is that so?”

“Yeah! They’re living dinosaurs!” He beams. “Isn’t that cool?!”

“Aye. Pure magic, son.” He chuckles.

“They walked the earth with Tyrannosaurus Rexes! A-a-and… Velociraptors! Can you imagine if  _ they  _ were still around?!”

Gold widens his eyes and pouts. “...I think I’d rather not.” He jokes.

“Yeah,” Bae sighs and nods in agreement. “They would wanna eat us ‘cause they’re carnivores. But a Triceratops would be cool! They eat plants… you could keep one as a pet and he could eat all the tomatoes in our garden!”

Gold refuses to let his smile falter when he remembers that he has no tomatoes anymore. That his garden has wilted and become overrun with weeds. He shakes the thought away and rustles a hand through Bae’s hair. “Speaking of eating, I think it’s time we had some lunch, hm?”

Bae looks back at the crocodile and frowns.

“Come. We can visit the Cretaceous beast again once you’ve gotten some food in your belly.” Gold snickers, poking a finger at his tummy. “Trust me, he’s not going anywhere.”

Bae gives the crocodile one last longing stare before taking his father’s hand and following him over to the nearest picnic table, where Jefferson awaits. They unpack their sandwiches and treats, and Gold listens with unwaning interest while his son tells him about all the things he’s been learning in school. He doesn’t miss the enthusiasm written all over Bae’s face when he starts talking about Emma Nolan, a girl in his class who he’d caught during recess trying to steal one of his matchbox cars. He happily informs his papa that he offered to share his cars because he has so many anyway, and that he and Emma are best friends now. Despite all the chatter that bubbles out of Bae as they eat, he manages to finish his lunch first and pleads for permission to play on the jungle gym nearby.

As soon as his son sprints off, Gold starts to feel a familiar emptiness in his gut. A black hole forming which threatens to consume the small amount of good he's managed to create for himself. His efforts to be positive are beginning to catch up with him, he realizes.  _ So he's having one pleasant afternoon with his son— _ but how long will he be able to keep this up? How long until he goes back to shutting himself away in his house and avoiding everyone and everything?

He remembers his last visit to the doctor and sighs. Dr Whale had been suggesting medication for this exact sort of thing. Insisted it would make it easier for him to carry out  _ day to day tasks, _ as he'd called it. And he laughed in the man’s face. Nobody else has to pop pills to feel like a fully functioning human being— why should he? The whole idea just seemed to reinforce the notion that he was broken. Defective. Void of warranty. But perhaps he ought to reconsider. If a few pills could help him have more days like this, what was the harm?

“You seem different today.” Jefferson observes, pulling him out of his thoughts as they watch Bae on the playground. He tucks away a reminder to swallow his stubborn pride and make another appointment with Dr Whale.

“...what do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” Jefferson shrugs. “Lighter. Happy, even.”

“I… had a good week.”

“It’d be the first in months, by the looks of you.” Jefferson says, he eyes still focused on the jungle gym.

“Well,” Gold mumbles, “I ah, had a bit of a breakthrough at group, I guess.” He shrugs.

Jefferson blinks owlishly in disbelief, finally turning to face him. “You? A  _ breakthrough _ at group?” He shakes his head and snickers. “You can’t stand group!”

“I don’t know. It’s grown on me, I suppose.” Gold says. He presses his lips into a thin line and sighs. “I think I’m going to keep going to the meetings after I’m done.” He mumbles quietly, not quite wanting anyone to hear.

Jefferson shifts closer on the picnic bench and knits his brows together. “Well now— what brought this about?” He asks.

“I ah… met somebody who helped provide me with some much-needed perspective.” Gold answers diplomatically and nods in a silent agreement with himself. “Besides,” he shrugs, “Dr Hopper said it would help my case if I demonstrated a  _ commitment to the program,” _ he scoffs.

Jefferson rolls his eyes. “Town recluse Rummond Gold  _ met somebody?” _ He teases. “I’m intrigued,” He says, looking back out at the playground and beginning to stroke his chin. “How does such a thing happen, I wonder? Hmm…”

Gold narrows his eyes at his friend, realizing he’s not getting out of this one. “I went out to the bar the other night. For a change, you know? Was just gonna have a drink or two and be on my way.”

“And...?”

“This woman sat down next to me. ...Started telling me her life story an’ a’ that. We got talking and just kind of hit it off. I told her about everything going on. Felt good.” He shrugs. “That’s it, really.”

_ “That’s it, really?” _ Jefferson scoffs. “Oh no— judging by the goofy look you’ve had on your face all day, I’d say that hardly scratches the surface!”

Gold huffs. Jefferson knows him all too well. “Things may have…  _ escalated _ from there,” he confesses, a little grin tugging at his lips.

“Oh, I see!” Jefferson teases, “You got some  _ horizontal _ perspective.” He nudges him with his elbow and murmurs, “...Good for you.”

Before Gold can protest, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He can’t fight the blush and the smile that bloom across his face when he reads the notification— a text from Lacey that reads,  _ ‘you better have fun with your son today, asshole.’ _

“...what?” Jefferson prods. “What is it?”

Gold silently types a quick reply and slides his phone back into his pocket. “...Nothing.”

“Nothing, my arse!” He groans. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

Gold scoffs. “You’re terribly nosey today, Hatter.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Jefferson huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “In any event, I’m happy for you. And for Bae. It’s good for him to see his papa somewhat back to his old self again.”

_ Old self. _ Gold certainly feels better than he has in a long time, but he feels different.

“I was just— I was blaming Milah, you know?” He admits, his eyes fixed on Bae as he swings from the monkey bars. “But she’s out of my life now, and I’m glad of it. Besides, it wouldn't have been any good for Bae to grow up in a house where his parents hate each other... I mean, I hate this,” he says, gesturing vaguely amongst the three of them, “but ah, this woman helped me realize that being angry at Milah isn’t going to fix it.” Gold sighs and gives a shrug. “I'm no’ gonna sit around feeling sorry for myself, if I can help it. Certainly not around Bae, at least. If I’m to get him back, I just have to show that no matter what, I’m going to be the best father I can for him.”

“Well, I'm glad to hear it, Rum.” Jefferson sighs and nods in Bae’s direction. “They're perceptive, you know? When Priscilla passed, Grace took it well. Far better than I did, at least. You think they’re too young to understand, but kids— they can just tell. And Bae noticed something was different right away.”

Gold blushes and glances down at his lap. “When I answered the door. He— He hasn’t hugged me like that since...” He trails off with a wry smile, allowing himself a sniffle as he fights back the waterworks.

Jefferson wraps an arm around him, giving him a comforting squeeze. “I know.”

  
  
  


*****

  
  
  


Lacey is curled up in a ball on her couch, shoveling fistfuls of Coco Pops out of the box and into her mouth. Her phone is sitting on the coffee table, and she’s staring at it as though she's practicing telekinesis. She really enjoyed the night (and the following morning) she spent with Mr Gold. She wants to do it again. His eyes were so warm and free of judgement while she told him her story. He didn’t question any of it. Only nodded and listened and expressed his empathy. He made her laugh, and after she invited him inside, he’d made sure to give pleasure  _ to  _ her, rather than taking it  _ from  _ her. He seemed to genuinely enjoy her company as much as she did his, yet she she finds herself hesitating.

She’s  _ Racy Lacey,  _ she reminds herself. Of course he enjoyed her company. Half the town has enjoyed her company at some point or another— why should Mr Gold be any different? He'd been hurt and vulnerable and she was available and willing. A warm bed on a cold night. Nothing more. What had she been thinking? She’s been through this before countless times and it’s always ended the same way— with her feeling empty and lonelier than before.

_ But he stayed. _

Lacey sighs and tosses the now empty box of cereal on the floor. It had to count for something, didn’t it? He responded to her text right away yesterday. If he’s trying to avoid her, he’s doing an awful shit job of it. She huffs out a laugh and smiles. What does she have to lose, really? Worst case scenario— what’s one more person in this town who can hardly stand to look her in the eyes? And best case scenario— well, she’d have to think about what exactly that would be.

_ You deserve to be happy, _ she tells herself. It’s what her mother would tell her, were she still alive.

_ “There’s happiness out there for all of us, my love. But we have to be brave. We have to seek it out, because it won't just fall into our laps. Sometimes the universe helps us and gives us a glimpse of what our happiness looks like. But oh Lacey— when it does, you have to grasp it and refuse to let go.” _

“Do the brave thing...” She mumbles under her breath.

Before she can change her mind, Lacey snatches her phone off the coffee table. She dials his number and waits as the line rings and rings and rings.

She wants to hear his voice say her name again, and imagines what sort of tone he'll have when he picks up. Polite? Relieved? Surprised? “ _ Good afternoon, Miss French.” “...Lacey?” “...Oh, Lacey!” “Miss French?”  _

_ Ring. _

_ Ring. _

_ Ring. _

_ Your call has been forwarded to an automated voicemail system— _

Lacey sighs and studies the ceiling as the robotic voice drones on. She contemplates hanging up, but the beep comes sooner than she expects and she decides there's no turning back at this point.

“Hey, uh…” she mumbles and clears her throat. “Gold. It's uh, Lacey? Um… look. I uh, had a really good time the other night? And I don't just mean the sex, before you think—” Lacey scoffs and shakes her head.  _ Stupid. _ “Anyway, um, I was thinking of going to this pub in Portland tomorrow night. And thought, you know, maybe we could hang out? Again? I mean, it's kinda this open mic thing I've been doing, so I'll be there for sure, but I thought maybe you wouldn't mind getting out of Storybrooke too for a while? People don’t stare. It’s kinda nice. Anyway, the place is the Avonlea Pub, so. Maybe I'll see you there? At like, eight-ish? Um… yeah. Call me, or text me, or… just show up, or I dunno. Don't. Anyway...” She pauses and feels like she’s forgetting to mention something, but draws a blank.  _ “…Bye.”  _ She blurts before quickly ending the call and tossing the phone back on the table like it had just burned her.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Gold managed to find a parking spot not too far from the pub. The area seems exceptionally busy for a Monday night, he thinks as he white-knuckles his steering wheel. He should have called ahead. Or texted. Or stayed at home.

_ No, no, _ he scolds himself. Home is no good. There’s nothing there for him except ramen noodles and a chipped cup.

_ She invited you _ .  _ She wouldn't go out of her way to leave a message if she didn't honestly want you here. _

Gods, why was he such utter shite at communication? He nearly dropped his phone when it started ringing and he saw her name lighting up the screen. He  _ wanted _ to answer it. But instead he just stared and panicked. And it wasn't like he  _ meant _ to ignore her message, either. He'd listened to it. Repeatedly. He just wasn't sure what to say. So he put it off. Slept on it. Forgot about it, and suddenly remembered three hours ago.

Gold sighs.  _ This is exactly how you got into this mess, you bampot. _ He’s beginning to recognize it now. This pattern of shelving his problems away, putting them out of mind and somehow expecting them to just… stop being problems.

He scolds himself. Lacey isn't a problem. She's… an opportunity— a small chance at some pathetic kind of happiness— and it terrifies him. He pulls the keys out of the ignition and pops the door open, the soft breeze of cool evening air bringing him back to earth.

_ Just fucking do it, darling. _

The smoke in the air assaults his senses as he steps inside the establishment, and he feels as though he's just stepped into the seventies. As far as atmosphere goes, The Avonlea Pub is even more depressing than the Rabbit Hole, which at least attempts some pretense of sophistication. The place  _ smells _ sticky and if it weren't for the small redhead strumming a guitar in the back, he imagines the sub par sound system would be blaring  _ Stranglehold _ while some drunk biker gets into a squabble over nothing in particular with a truck driver named Helen. He finally steps deeper inside and settles into a stool at the far end of the bar. He peers around in search of Lacey to no avail. There’s a woman in the corner who  _ might _ pass as her, but her back is turned and he doubts he could make a proper identification in the dim lighting of the place anyway.

“Who the hell are  _ you?” _ A voice sneers before he has a chance to set his cane down. He glances up to find the bartender, an older woman with leathery, sun-damaged skin, scowling at him. She's wearing a denim vest over a Harley-Davidson shirt with the sleeves cut off, revealing a plethora of fading, mediocre tattoos on her arms. She reminds him of Storybrooke's own Widow Lucas, except this isn't Storybrooke and the patch on her vest says  _ Helen. _

Of course it does.

_ “A paying customer.” _ Gold mutters, pulling a twenty out of his wallet and slamming it on the counter. “Scotch. Neat.”

Helen snickers as she wipes down the rim of a highball glass. “I don't know what country club you just crawled out of, but the only scotch we got here is the kind you have on the rocks after you've already lowered your standards with a few shots of bourbon.”

Gold narrows his eyes at her and slowly realizes that drinking at a bar is an entirely different experience when the staff (and the patrons) aren't terrified of him. The thought of anyone daring to give him lip brings a scowl to his face, but then he remembers he isn’t in Storybrooke anymore and he doesn’t give a damn about what these people think. Lacey was right— it’s nice to be nobody for a change.

Gold takes a deep breath and smacks his lips. “Well, I appreciate your honesty, Helen.” He says coolly. An amused smirk tugs at his lips and quickly cracks into a toothy grin. “I'll ah… take whatever whiskey you've got that tastes the least like piss, then.” 

The icy expression on Helen's face melts into something resembling warmth and she smiles. “You got it, three-piece.”

The redhead finishes her song and a small applause swells through the seedy little establishment. She hops off the stool and takes a little bow before sneaking off the small stage. That's when a familiar petite figure steps up wielding a beat-up Gretsch hollow body. He feels his cheeks grow hot when he suddenly recalls why the guitar case in her apartment looked so familiar. It had been collecting dust in his shop until about a year ago, when it was purchased by an uncharacteristically amenable— albeit a little despondent— Moe French.

“Hey.” She mumbles into the mic. “I'm uh, Lacey. Though um… I think most of you guys already know that.” She adds with a shy little smile. A few whistles and claps sound throughout the bar while she gets her fingers in place for the opening chord.

Gold's attention is fixed so intently on her as she plays, and her voice is so much softer and more velveteen than the husky drawl she speaks with. It's a vaguely familiar tune with a beautiful, twinkling guitar part punctuated by the words,  _ “I'm never going back again.” _ He's startled when Helen sets a heavy glass of whiskey before him, and he catches her rolling her eyes as he accepts it from her.

“You better leave that girl alone.” Helen warns as he looks back at Lacey. “Poor thing's been through enough already without some piece of shit like you—”

“No, no.” Gold clips and takes a sip of his drink, his eyes fixed on Lacey. “I mean, you're right about one thing, Helen—” He takes another sip and looks at her with a self-effacing smirk. _ “I'm a right fucking scunner.  _ But that woman up there is no  _ poor thing.”  _ He wets his lips and nods towards Lacey. _ “ _ …Miss French is a goddamn Phoenix. ...Rising from the ashes.” He explains, twirling a finger about for dramatic flair.

Lacey's eyes sweep across the pub until landing on him. She smiles and Gold feels a warmth in his chest he can't attribute to the burn of the cheap whiskey he'd just taken a swig of. A blissful smile blooms across his face and Helen rolls her eyes again.

“Lord have mercy…” she grumbles, shaking her head and shuffling back to the other end of the bar.

Lacey finishes her song to the sound of a small applause and approaches the bar, lugging her guitar case and biting back a timid smile.

“Mr Gold. You uh, you came.” She knits her brows together and wrinkles her nose. “And shaved.”

He gapes up at her for a moment while his mind catches up. “I'm sorry,” he stammers, “I-I meant to call but I…”

Lacey waves a hand in dismissal. “Nah, it's cool. Don't worry about it.” She offers a tight-lipped smile and settles in the seat beside him. “Like I said, I was gonna be here no matter what. But uh, I'm glad you made it.”

“You… you sounded lovely.” He says shakily.

Lacey smiles weakly at him. “It was okay, I guess—”

“You do this every week?” He asks hurriedly, leaning closer with interest.

Her smile widens and she glances away shyly. “...Yeah.”

“That's—that's great.” He nods, a nervous tremor in his voice despite his efforts to relax. His skin is practically crawling with how happy he is to see her again. “...That you get to sing.” He adds by way of the explanation he feels compelled to provide.

“Yeah, it um… feels good to perform again, and the people here are really nice.” She explains as Helen sets her usual in front of her.

They share of moment of prolonged eye contact and Gold can't think of anything else to say. Conversation was so much easier at the Rabbit Hole the other night, so why is he being so daft now? Is he not drunk enough yet? Did the sex make it weird? Do they simply have nothing in common apart from having miserable pasts?

“Did you uh, have a good time with your son on Saturday?” She asks.

Gold blinks hard, snapping himself out of his anxious, rambling thoughts. “...Aye.” He nods with far more enthusiasm than he speaks. “It was good.”

Lacey sips her drink and turns to face him better. “Well...” she nudges, “did you guys do anything fun?”

“Spent the afternoon at the zoo.” He answers with a nod, his finger anxiously tapping along the rim of his glass.

Lacey smiles. “Shit, I haven't been to the zoo since.. _.” _ She trails off and laughs, shaking her head. It's such a beautiful sight. “So um, what was his favorite part?”

“The crocodiles.” Gold answers a little too quickly.

Lacey raises her brows and bobs her head from side to side contemplatively. “...Interesting choice.” She finally nods.

“Well, he loves dinosaurs, so...” He moves to pull his hand away from his glass, but nearly knocks it over instead and blurts out an  _ “Ahmsosorry!” _ His heart skips a beat as if he just missed the bottom step on the stairs, and he quickly reaches for the toppling highball before it spills completely. Lacey sputters on her drink, and he can feel all the blood rushing to his face once he manages to steady his glass.

“Alright, I think it's time to cut you off already.” She teases, setting her Long Island down and reaching for a napkin to wipe up the small puddle of bourbon that splashed onto the counter. “Look at you— wasting perfectly good alcohol...” she tuts, giving him a wink.

Gold gives her a sidelong look and smiles before taking another, careful, sip of his whiskey. He swirls the glass about, taking a moment to taste the substandard drink on his tongue, and scowls. “I’d say that’s debatable.” He deadpans as he sets it back down. “Mediocre at best.”

Lacey narrows her eyes at him but proves unable to keep a straight face. Her nose wrinkles and she laughs and it’s so utterly adorable that Gold immediately decides his little blunder was totally worth it. She scoots a little closer and rests her hand tentatively over his. She nibbles her lip for a moment, her eyes wandering over his features curiously. “You um… you look different, Mr Gold.” She observes. He returns a puzzled scowl and a smirk tugs at her lips. “...Nowhere near as pathetic as last week.” She snickers.

“I'll have to try harder next time, then,” He scoffs. “You've clearly yet to see the full extent of just how pathetic I can be.” He adds, raising his glass and wiggling his brows.

She smiles at him again, her blue irises gleaming. “And when uh—” She worries her lip and looks back at him. “When might that be?”

_ Fuck. _

“I-I…” He stammers, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest again. What is it about this woman that makes him feel everything about a hundred times more intensely than usual?

“I could uh, use a good drinking buddy, is all.” She murmurs, stroking a finger along one of the tendons in his hand. It's so soothing it startles. The thumping of his heart slows and Gold realizes just how much trouble he’s in.

“The crowd at the Rabbit Hole can't keep up with me for shit, you know.” She chuckles.

“Not sure I could either, Miss French,” Gold confesses. “But ah…” he opens his palm to her, taking her hand into his own. His mouth is going terribly dry and he has to swallow before any words can come out. “I’d… certainly like to try?”

She drags her fingers over his, touching their fingertips, and nibbles her lip. “I’d like that.”

He’s not entirely sure what he’s agreed to, but they’re clearly having some kind of moment. They're staring into each other's eyes again, and Gold feels compelled to say something. Ruin the moment. It's what he does.

“...Are you ah, certain?” He asks. “I hear I'm a bit of a miserable prick.”

Lacey snorts and rolls her eyes. “I don't know— Batman and Robin, Sherlock and Watson, Waldorf and Statler…”

Gold scoffs into glass.

“...miserable prick and stubborn bitch sound like quite the team to me.” She smiles.

“Aye, I suppose you're right.”

Lacey straightens up and looks at him, an internal debate visible in her eyes. Her tongue pokes out to wet her lips and she tilts her head. “You um, wanna go for a walk?”

“I…” Gold stares back at his glass as though it contains the answer to all of life's mysteries rather than a measure of mediocre bourbon.

_ Ah. _

“What about that?” He asks, nodding toward her guitar.

“Hm.” Lacey stares at the worn, sticker-covered case and sucks her teeth. “Yeah, I took the bus here. But uh… I hear you can fit like, six bodies in the trunk of a Cadillac.” She suggests with a wink.

Gold gives her a sly grin. “...At least.”

  
  


With Lacey's guitar safely stowed in the trunk, they walk arm in arm through the busy streets of Portland. Needless to say, the city has a far more booming nightlife than Storybrooke. At some point, someone hands them a pamphlet about The Good Word, which inspires a mildly philosophical and highly entertaining discussion of all the reasons they’ll both be going to hell in a handbasket. There’s a kind of anonymity they enjoy in being lost among the crowd, yet they still must be an odd enough looking pair if the puzzled eyes snapping to their locked arms are anything to go by.

“You’re quiet again.” Lacey points out.

Gold shrugs.

“What are you thinking about?”

He hesitates for a second. “How I should thank you.”

She snorts. “Believe me, Gold. You expressed your gratitude well enough the other night.”

Gold casts her a sidelong look. “Not for  _ that.” _ He grunts, and Lacey laughs. “No, no.” He says softly. “Bae and I had a lot of fun this weekend. And I don't know if that would have been possible if you hadn't talked some sense into me last week.”

“You don't give yourself enough credit, Gold.” Lacey chuckles. She wraps her arms around him, minding his cane and trying not to lean on him too much as they walk.

“No, I-I mean it.” He insists. “I had my head so far up my arse, and…”

“I pulled it out?”

“Aye.”

Lacey chuckles and looks at him with a mischievous smile. “Well… my dad threw a fit when he found out we did it, and I told him to fuck off.” She murmurs into his ear. “So thank  _ you. _ ”

“Ah. Lovely.” He scoffs. “Another reason for the man to despise me.”

“No, no.” Lacey assures with a laugh, “I um… I think it went well, actually. We aired some stuff out.”

“Well, I suppose that's… good.” He nods cautiously.

“It is. It was a conversation he's been avoiding with me for years. But um, it turns out his hatred for you outweighs his discomfort around the topic of his daughter's sex life.”

Gold hikes his brows. “What an honor.” He deadpans.

“A turn-on, at the very least.” She winks and he blushes slightly. The walk a few more steps and Lacey clears her throat. “You know, um… my feet kinda hurt. Maybe it's time to head back?”

He looks around at all the shops and cafes sweeping up and nods. “Aye. It's getting late.”

They make the return trip to the Cadillac through the thinning crowd. A thoroughly imbibed man compliments Gold on the car as he opens the door for Lacey, noting how  _ “you just don't see many beauts like this these days, let alone in such good shape.”  _

After far more  _ thank yous _ and _ have a good nights _ than Gold feels should have been necessary, the man finally staggers off and he settles into the driver's seat with a huff. He slides the keys into the ignition and starts the car, turning to Lacey with a tight-lipped smile.

They share a look in silence as the engine warms up. They managed to have a good time again tonight, and it’s so encouraging to know that such a thing is still possible for him. Lacey’s smiling at him and sucks her teeth when she decides the silence has extended long enough.

“So uh, why haven't you kissed me yet?” She asks, the tip of her tongue poking out to wet her lips.

He cracks a smile and shifts in his seat a little so he can lean across the center console. “I was beginning to wonder the same thing.” He croons, tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. Her eyes gleam and she leans in with a smile. He pauses to savor the moment, how beautiful she is and how happy he feels around her.

“I'm waiting…” she chuckles.

He huffs out a laugh and slowly combs his fingers through her hair, pulling her close so he can slant his lips over hers. It's a brief, gentle touch at first, and they share a breath as they part slightly. But of course, it’s not enough. They touch again and again, tentatively growing more firm and insistent until Lacey climbs halfway out of her seat and dips her tongue into his mouth.

He lets out a little hum and responds in kind, the cabin falling silent save for the sounds of smacking lips, slipping tongues, and little gasps of breath. She's so intoxicating, he thinks. It's as though there's an electric current that runs through her lips, making his body tingle and his heart pump a little more strongly.

Lacey's hand wanders into his lap and begins the very dangerous trek up his thigh. He smiles against her lips until he feels her cup him through his trousers and literally squeaks.

She freezes and pulls back, her brows raised in question.

“Oh no, Miss French.” He chuckles nervously, “We’re not doing that here.”

Lacey lets out a disappointed whine. “Why not?”

Now his is heart pumping in a far less pleasant, albeit much more familiar way, and his tongue suddenly feels too big for his mouth. She can’t be serious. Or can she?

“We're parked on the main road!” He protests and flails his arms about, his accent suddenly thicker. “There are people everywhere!”

She’s taken her hand off his trousers, but now she’s mouthing at his neck, and it's almost enough to distract him from the panic he feels in his chest. “What a fucking downer...” She teases between kisses.

“I’m also certain yon plastered dafty is still out there,” he mutters, eyes darting out the windows for the man in question. “Waiting for the right moment to come knock oan the windae and make an offer on the car!”

Lacey laughs and finally pulls away. “You really  _ are _ a miserable prick. Could probably suck the fun out of a blowjob.”

“Well,  _ excuse me _ fi’ not having an exhibitionist fantasy!” He snaps, rapidly tapping a finger on the steering wheel.

She snorts and bites down on her lip in some shameful attempt to fight back the wide grin forming on her face. She doesn’t say anything only stares and smiles and by gods, is it treacherous.

“...What?”

Lacey giggles and shakes her head. “Nothing. You just... get so nervous.”

Great. She's laughing at him. He should've expected this, honestly. He's a nervous wreck who's terrified of the unknown— There's no way he would ever be able to keep up with the likes of goddamn Lacey sex-in-the-car-on-a-very-busy-public-street French. 

“It's… Cute.” She says finally. “You're um— you're cute.”

_ Oh. _

Well, being cute is something else entirely now, isn't it?

“I'm…?” He can't dare say the word, and just raises his brows instead.  _ Cute.  _ Surely that can’t be right.

“Yeah.” She nods eagerly. “You kinda are.”

Maybe it’s just the red traffic signal at the intersection up ahead, but Gold can swear she’s blushing a little.

“Well.” He clears his throat and takes a slow, deep breath, letting his shoulders relax. “You… Are an  _ experience,” _ he says calmly, letting his lips curl into a little smirk at the way her nose wrinkles when she tries not to laugh. “...An experience like no other.”

She narrows her eyes and scowls at the peculiar praise. “I'm gonna take that as compliment.”

“It is.”

The highest of compliments. The range of his experiences have felt confined to such a narrow segment of blues for so long. But when he’s sitting across from her, it’s like the entire spectrum of the human experience becomes available to him. It's so tempting to lean back in and kiss her again. But then her tongue sweeps across her lip so teasingly and he knows a kiss won't suffice. Gods, he wants to devour her again.

“Wanna hit Waffle House?” She asks abruptly. “They’re open 24 hours.”

He blinks owlishly at her. “I’m sorry— w- _ waffles? _ ”

“Well they don’t  _ just _ have waffles,” she groans, rolling her eyes. “...For like ten bucks, you can get a whole damn t-bone steak dinner.”

Gold manages a scowl for a few seconds before he sputters a laugh. “That sounds…  _ truly  _ awful.”

“Fine, fine.” She pouts, folding her arms over her chest and looking out the window. “I just thought like, you know— Maybe we could... have dinner or whatever.”

He swallows hard. “You… you’d like to have dinner? With me?”

“Well, I wasn’t talking to  _ that  _ guy,” she snorts, nodding out the window where the Cadillac’s drunken admirer has returned. “But yeah. You and me. Dinner.” She says, squaring her shoulders.  _ “...Call it a date if you want.” _ She mumbles, aiming for nonchalance and overshooting it by a mile.

He hesitates for an instant before taking the plunge.  _ “Then I will.” _

Lacey pulls away from the window and look at him again, her brows raised in an expression that’s a mixture of interest and surprise.

“Call it a date.” He coughs. “...Because I'd very much like to call it that.”

Her lips slowly curl into an adorable smile. “And where are you uh, gonna take me for this date, Mr Gold?”

He huffs out a laugh and clicks his tongue. “Well... It  _ is _ past ten o’clock,” he sighs, “I don’t imagine we have many options. But someone  _ did _ just tell me about a place—  _ open through all the wee hours of the night— _ where you can get a t-bone steak dinner for ten dollars.”

Lacey arches a brow at him. “I’m listening...”

He rests a hand over hers, gliding his thumb to and fro over her wrist. “I mean, something tells me that the wine selection at such an establishment will leave much to be desired, but ah…” He wets his lips and smiles, “I believe the collection at my house will more than compensate for that.”

Lacey presses her lips into a thin line and tilts her head at him. “I dunno... I've been told I’m  _ very _ hard to please.”

He gives her a smug look. “Based on recent experience, I’m feeling confident about my abilities in that area.”

Lacey sucks her teeth. “...So a date, huh?”

“...If that’s agreeable to you.”

She nods. “Then it’s a date.”

“It’s a date.” He echoes, trying not to look too completely over the moon about it. He didn’t think it was possible for him to grow to like someone so much in such a short period of time. And what were the odds that said individual would want to spend more time with  _ him? _

“Well, we should probably get going, then.” Lacey says, starting to buckle her seat belt. “It wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of you to keep me out too late. People might talk.”

“Hm.” Gold fastens his seatbelt and shrugs. “I'm not terribly concerned about that. In fact, I was thinking I might keep you till morning. ...If that's alright with you.”

She purses her lips in contemplation. “...I could be persuaded.”

“I make a good breakfast?” He offers.

She bites back a smile. “...Better than Cocoa Pops?”

He scoffs. “No disrespect to your culinary wiles, Miss French, but aye.  _ Much  _ better than Cocoa Pops.”

_ “Shit,” _ she chuckles and blinks at him as though she’s seeing him for the first time. “That’s a bold statement, Mr Gold! Where is all this sudden  _ confidence  _ coming from?”

“I-Is it too much?” He asks, his voice sounding more uncertain than he intended. “I could always go back to being a miserable prick.” He suggests.

“No, no,” Lacey laughs and shakes her head. “I like it.”

“Aye. I think I could get used to it, myself.”


	8. Chapter 8

Gold's house is filled with music these days. He's had to replace the needle on Lacey's record player twice already, and had to clear out some of his own clutter to make room for all her vinyl. He can't say that he enjoys half the things she has blaring all day long, but he also can't complain when she sings along and her voice carries through house.

His Émile Gallé china cabinet has been restored to its former glory, only now it’s filled with skulls and novelty mugs, which certainly don't fit the rest of the décor in the house but Bae seems to enjoy them-- After all, they keep his chipped Royal Albert teacup in very good company. It immediately became Lacey’s favorite when she’d taken her coffee in it the morning after their first official date. She’d dribbled her steaming hot, tar-black brew over herself and put Gold’s frantic, mumbled apologies to rest by assuring him that it was the “most badass little teacup ever,” because though it might be damaged, now it could fight back against “any fuckers who dare drink from it the wrong way.” Every morning he sees her sipping from it, and Gold thanks his lucky stars for not having thrown it away.

Gold's preparing breakfast when a pair of arms snake around his waist and a familiar set of lips plant a kiss to his temple.

“Today's the big day…” Lacey croons, giving him a squeeze.

He turns in her arms to kiss her properly. “Trust me sweetheart, I don't need reminding.”

“Are you nervous?”

Gold scoffs. “I'm… elated.” He says, touching their noses and pressing his forehead to hers.

“Good.” She chirps, tilting her head to steal a kiss from him. “You better be.”

In a few hours, the two of them would be driving to Milah's and picking up Bae.  _ For Good. _ A few months ago, with Dr Hopper’s help, he'd been granted honest-to-God joint custody. But as if that wasn't enough, Milah informed him shortly after that she and Killian were planning on going abroad. Indefinitely.

Gold couldn't fathom how seeing the world could be more important than raising their son, but Milah seemed happier than he'd ever seen her in all their years together, and Bae seemed to take the news well. If it all meant he got to tuck his son into bed every night and get him ready for school every morning, Gold supposes he may as well feel happy for her. He isn't so angry anymore, and there's no sense in arguing with a good thing, after all.

“Are you sure he likes me?” Lacey asks for the umpteenth time this week.

“He's eight years old and you taught him  _ The Dinosaur Song.” _ Gold scoffs. “He thinks the sun shines out your arse.”

“Well… just making sure.”

He pecks a kiss to the tip of her little nose and smiles. “Go get the orange juice and sit down, sweetheart.” He insists, ushering her toward the fridge. “I refuse to be held accountable for any more overcooked bacon that occurs as a result of you being distracting.”

Lacey rolls her eyes and spins around, doing her best to appear scandalized when she feels the spatula gently smack her backside.

 

*****

  
  


Gold stares hesitantly at the front door of the cottage. He’s been on this porch every weekend for the past several months, but this time it’s different. He knows emotions are going to be high this time and despite his assurances one the drive over, he does in fact feel very nervous. Lacey shoots him a exhausted look and steps forward, knocking firmly on the bright red door for him. He told her a dozen times she could wait in the car like she usually does, but she insisted on tagging along as moral support. He gives her an apologetic smile, and in a few seconds the door swings open revealing a half-dressed Killian with a beer in his hand.

“Gold! Come on in, mate!” He greets warmly, giving him a clap on the back that almost sends him stumbling off balance.

While Gold can appreciate the man's effort to mend fences, he still doesn't feel like he wants to be on  _ mate _ terms with the guy his ex-wife left him for. “...Killian.” He nods, stepping inside.

“And you luv, must be…” He pouts and scratches his head, studying Lacey like she's a Picasso.

“Lacey.”

_ “Lacey! _ Right, well, come on in, luv.” He says, turning around to Gold and mouthing,  _ ‘nice work’. _

Gold rolls his eyes.

“Might I interest either of you in a beer? Shot of rum?”

“No thank—”

“White or dark?” Lacey asks with a smirk.

Killian smiles. “Dark as the depths of the sea, lass,”

“Well,” she nods, “I've never been one to turn down a drink.”

“I like this one already, Gold.” He says, snapping a finger at her.

_ Probably not the most appropriate comment given the nature of our relationship, _ Gold thinks, but he pushes it aside.

“I hope you don't mind the mess,” Killian says, straightening up the stacks of boxes as he passes through. “Still much work to do before we set sail.” He informs proudly.

“Uh, where's Bae?” Lacey asks, so Gold doesn't have to.

“Oh, Milah took the rugrat out for pizza-- just mum and her little lad. They’ll be back soon.” He explains, digging through one of the boxes for a bottle of rum and a glass. He pours a generous measure and hands it to Lacey. She takes a sip and nods her approval.

The three of them stand awkwardly in the living room for a moment until Killian suddenly perks up. “Oh!” He sets his beer down and begins rummaging through the room for something. “Milah picked up a-a-a…” he snaps his fingers until he finally locates a tablet and holds it up for them to see. “One of these.” He stares at it with furrowed brows and pushes the button on it tentatively, smiling as the screen lights up. He shows them the screen and taps one of the icons. “She can call Bae on this thing anytime and see his dashing face from anywhere in the world. Coolest bloody thing, right?” 

Gold smiles. While he personally would be perfectly fine with never having to hear mention of Milah ever again for as long as he lives, he still wants Bae know his mum loves and cares about him and wouldn’t dare come between that. “Aye, indeed.”

“I mean, I can't figure the bloody thing out myself, but-- Milah's the brains of the operation, not me.”

They let out an uncomfortable chuckle and fall into silence again. Lacey manages enough small talk about the boat, their planned destinations, and life at sea to carry a conversation that’s only a little awkward until she sets her empty glass down.

“Sorry uh, where's the loo in this place?” She asks.

“Through the kitchen,” Killian points. “First door on the left.”

“Thanks.” She nods and gives Gold a pointed look before she heads off. He wishes he could follow her because the last thing he wants is to be left alone with this man. Even if it's only for five minutes. He endures about ninety-seven seconds of awkward silence before Killian clears his throat.

“Look mate.” He sighs, leaning in. “I... know we didn't exactly meet on the best terms. But Milah's happy, and you look like you're doing pretty alright for yourself. Lacey seems like a fine lass.”

Gold regrets not taking the man up on his offer of alcohol. A measure of overproof rum is starting to look very appealing right now.

“Bae clearly loves both of his parents, he seems to have a lot of fun with Lacey, and God bless the lad— some days I think he's even managed to make a little room in that heart of his for me, too.”

Strangely, Gold doesn't feel jealous or threatened at the thought of Bae having another man in his life. He actually feels proud in a way. Proud to have raised a son with so much capacity for love in his heart. 

“Anyway,” Killian continues, “what I'm getting at, is perhaps it's time we all bury the hatchet, aye? For the boy?”

Gold stares at the hand Killian is holding out to him. Any more than a few months ago he'd respond with something like,  _ “Aye, we can bury the hatchet, alright— in your skull.” _ But he’s not that man anymore. Or at least, he's trying not to be. He's come to find that a life lived without grudges is in fact quite pleasant.

“...Aye.” He finally nods, giving the man a firm handshake. “Agreed.”

Killian grins ear to ear and pulls him in for a hug. “Aw, alright, mate!” He cheers, “That's what I like to hear!”

Gold feels like he’s being strangled by a boa constrictor in the man’s grip, but he's spared when the front door creaks open, announcing Milah and Bae's return.

“Oh!” Killian’s face lights up and he pulls away. “There's the handsome devil himself!”

More greetings are exchanged until Bae loses interest and settles on the lone sofa in the middle of the room with one of his handheld games. After the topic of Milah and Killian’s big plans is exhausted, Lacey settles on the floor beside him and Gold watches with a smile while they take turns passing the device back and forth. Conversation drifts back to the greater topic of the day-- taking Bae home-- which consists primarily of Gold and Milah running through the list of things to make sure they don’t forget to take home. Killian’s interest finally wanes and he returns to loading up boxes, and Milah finally stalks up to her ex-husband.

“Can I speak to you?” She asks quietly. “In private?”

Gold’s stomach does a flip and he clears his throat. “...Aye. Of course.” He nods stiffly, resisting the temptation to run away and scream,  _ “Nope, gotta go! Enjoy the world, dearie!” _

Milah invites him into the master bedroom and gently closes the door. She glances around nervously with her arms folded over her chest. Whatever she's about to tell him, it can't be good. In all the years he's known her, he's never seen her so anxious. Milah doesn't get anxious. She's always had nerves of steel.  _ He _ ’s the nervous wreck. She paces back and forth across the barren room. Occasionally pauses and looks at him as if to speak, only to shake her head and fix her gaze back on the floor. He feels himself beginning to sweat under the collar when she finally lets out a sigh and leans against the foot of the empty bedframe.

“I'm… I'm sorry.” She finally mumbles, avoiding his eyes.

_ What. _

He blinks owlishly at her and remains silent, not sure if he heard correctly. She was apologizing to him?

Milah chances a glance at him and huffs, rolling her eyes. “Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” She mutters, throwing her arms up impatiently.

Gold has dreamed of this moment for years. Milah admitting her wrongs. Apologizing. Begging on her knees for his forgiveness. In his fantasies, he would tear her heart out and crush it. But as one might expect, the reality is nowhere near as dramatic. Now that he’s actually seeing her like this, he just feels uncomfortable.

“You don't have to apologize to me, Milah.” He says weakly, motivated more by how badly he doesn't want to have this conversation than anything else.

“No.” She insists, shaking her head. “I… you had every reason to be upset. What I said was… uncalled for. It was wrong of me to use your father— t-to use that  _ pain— _ against you. I was frustrated and it was selfish and spiteful of me and I'd take it back if I could.”

The woman he was married to was one who lived her life without regrets. But this woman before him now is so… remorseful. It's almost like looking in a mirror.

“I was your husband.” He says plainly. “I should have reached out to you. You were clearly unhappy and I ignored that because I didn't want to face it.”

She presses her lips into a thin line and nods slightly, seeming to find some small comfort in his words. “I should have come to you first.” She says. “I-I was so caught up in my hatred for you a-and what my life had become that I lost sight of how it would affect Bae. You—” Milah sighs and meets his gaze again. “You've always been a good father to him, Rummond. I never should have tried to separate the two of you. If anyone deserved the indignity of supervised visitation, it was me.”

There were so many things he imagined he would say to her. But instead he’s speechless. “...Why are you telling me this?”

_ “I don't know!” _ She says defensively at first-- but then she folds her arms over her chest, making herself small, and her expression softens. “...I guess I just want to be the kind of person our son can look up to. I know I'm not perfect, but I did an ugly thing and I want to make it right.”

For the first time in about a decade, Gold feels empathy for her.

“I’m sure it sounds hypocritical of me to talk about Bae like this when I'm about to leave. But I know he'll be in good hands with you.” She says in earnest. “And I'd still like to call him.” She adds hurriedly. “Talk to him, listen to all of his adventures and I can tell him about mine.”

“I wouldn't expect anything less,” he assures her with tight-lipped smile. “You— You'll always be his mother, Milah. He loves you.”

Milah sniffles and nods, her lips contorting as she resists the urge to cry. “I'm just sorry.” She croaks again and looks up at him with a pained expression. “I never loved you, Rummond.” She admits. “But then Bae-- I thought that I could learn to but I was wrong and you just-- you deserve to know that the things I said and did to you were not done by somebody who loved you. They were done by somebody who was unhappy with their own choices and needed someone to blame and take it out on.” 

Gold suddenly feels like his breaths are thunderously loud and his insides are crawling. He doesn’t know whether to be angry or heartbroken or relieved.

“I can tell she loves you.” She sniffles, nodding toward the door. “I don’t expect you or Bae to ever forgive me, but all I’m trying to say is… don’t let what I did to you keep you from trying again.”

He finds himself resting a hand on her shoulder, trying to reassure her. “I…” He sighs and wets his lips, checking in with himself. He doesn't want to say it if he doesn't feel it. He thinks he does though, and takes a deep breath. “I forgive you.” He exhales. “And when he’s older and he understands, I know our son will too.”

She nods and sniffles again, drying a few tears from her eyes.

“In spite of it all, I think Bae is the one thing we got right.” He offers. A chuckle escapes her and she smiles weakly. “He's a smart boy with a kind heart.”

“...He is.” She whispers, choking back a sob. 

“Aye. He is.” Gold repeats firmly, giving her shoulder a small squeeze. They sit in silence while she dries her eyes. When her sniveling stops and the flush fades from her cheeks, he clears his throat.

“Ready?” He asks.

Milah nods. “Yeah.”

He gives her a tight-lipped smile and heads for the door, resting his hand the knob and pausing to her in the eyes. “...Thank you.” He says softly. He isn't quite sure what he's thanking her for just yet, but it feels like the right thing to say. 

“Thank  _ you.” _ She whispers back.

With this, he opens the door and they rejoin the strange, disjointed company that is their family.

  
  


*****

  
  


When they arrive home, Gold and Lacey spend the evening helping Bae unpack all of his clothes and toys and books. What started as a big task becomes bigger still, the hours flying by as they lose themselves in all the nostalgia. It’s not until the grandfather clock downstairs chimes eleven that they decide to pack it up and finish tomorrow. After all, they have all the time in the world now. Gold tucks him into bed, taking a moment to let it all sink in before pressing a kiss to his son’s little head and stepping out of the room as quietly as possible.

He joins Lacey in the bedroom, finding her curled up in bed with a book. A stubborn little smirk takes hold of his lips and refuses to let go as he changes into his pyjamas and slips under the covers beside her. He takes a moment to let her sink in too, admiring the focused look in her eyes as she reads. He finally presses a kiss to her shoulder and makes himself comfortable.

“So. You uh, talked to her.” She says a little coarsely, flipping a page of her book. “How’d that go?”

“Good. She just… wanted to talk about Bae. The divorce. You know.”

“Hm.” She shrugs, flipping another page.

Gold frowns. Was she feeling jealous? He hoped not. “She ah… she apologized to me.” He clarifies, not quite believing it himself. “And I—” he scoffs, “I found it in myself to forgive her. We're… on good terms now, I think.”

“Wow.” She says flatly. Flips another page. She can’t possibly be reading so quickly, Gold thinks. “That's great for you both, huh?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Sweetheart. What's wrong?”

Lacey is silent, peering at him through her lashes. She closes her book and sets it on the nightstand with a thud. “I don’t know.” She shrugs. “It’s just like… I fell in love with you because we were so alike. We hurt the same way. We understood each other.”

He blinks at her in confusion. “I— at least I certainly like to  _ think—  _ that we still do?”

“I guess.” She sighs and folds her arms over her chest. “But now it's like everything's working out for you. You're happy, you got your son back, and you've forgiven your ex-wife and everything's just peachy.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It just kinda feels like I’m missing the boat, is all.”

He sits upright and looks at her more closely, finding her usually vibrant blue eyes filled with pain. “Lacey, what are you saying?”

Her lip trembles and she rolls away from him, pulling the covers up to her chin. “That I don't think I can  _ do  _ that.” She mutters bitterly. 

“...Do what, sweetheart?”

Her shoulders rise and fall as she takes a deep, tremulous breath. “...Forgive him.” 

Gold’s heart stops in his chest. “Oh.”

“Everybody says forgiveness is about yourself more than the other person.” She mumbles, her voice muffled a little by the sheets. “And I get that. But I don't think I can ever forgive him for what what he did to me. Even if I could. I don't think I would want to.”

Gold takes a deep breath and thinks about this. It felt great to get closure with Milah. To let go of the pain she'd caused him. But he can't blame Lacey for doubting she could ever feel that way toward her abuser.

“I don't think I'll ever forgive my father, either.” He offers. Malcolm was a subject that had been mentioned a few times in passing, but not something he ever cared to discuss in any great detail. Any time they’d broached the topic, she seemed to catch the hurt in his eyes and promptly switched gears to something else.

Lacey rolls back over slowly and he’s overwhelmed with relief to find the pain in her eyes has been replaced with curiosity.

“When you met me, I was hurting because of the divorce. Because I’d lost Bae. And you helped me heal. But I've always had to live with the pain of what my father did to me, and I don't think that will ever go away.”

Lacey shakes her head slowly in agreement. He gestures for her to turn around and she spoons up against him. He holds her close, his warm hand softly gripping her shoulder. 

“They did—well,  _ unforgivable _ things to us. But I need you to know that I will never hurt you like that, Lacey. I will never knowingly add to that pain. That— that part of our lives is over. And even though it still hurts, there are still so many good things, smiles and adventures to be had together. Moments where I can almost forget those scars are there at all. I don't think I'll ever forgive my father, but I know I can still be happy.”

“I guess.” She sighs.

“You  _ guess?” _ He chuckles softly. “You taught me that, sweetheart.” He reminds her.

A reluctant little smile that tugs at her lips. “I did?”

“Of course. The show must go on, right?”

Lacey’s smile widens and she nods. “Right.” 

He tightens his arms around her and plants a kiss firmly on her shoulder. “I love you so much, sweetheart.”

She takes his hand and brings it to her lips for a kiss. “I love you, too.”

He squeezes her tightly again, as if to confirm she's actually there. He's come to realize that their pasts aren't enemies in a war to be won. They're unfortunate truths each of them will have to live with every day for as long as they live. But he can't think of anybody he'd rather keep fighting beside than Lacey French-- the curious young woman who reminded him he had the strength to go on when he couldn’t see it. 

 


End file.
